Minutiae: 100 Topic Challenge Response
by what-happened-2-nice
Summary: A series of one-shots in response to Bluegoo2's challenge. Back from my break. Up 4/06/11: Bear with me on this one. I'm seriously sleep deprived.
1. Remember 1

Challenge topic #1: Remember

Character(s): Danny Fenton

Genre: General

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

The room was lit with only a desk lamp. The ancient bulb grudgingly gave forth its light, spitting a flickering glow that had proven to induce minor spasms in the small muscles around the eyes and humming in a tone just below normal human hearing. This served as one further aggravation for the already agitated occupant of the room. The only other sound to be heard so late at night was his spite-filled, growling mutter.

"Stupid Lancer with his stupid projects. Stupid writing assignment that has to be 'original and thoughtful'. Stupid random topics that are a single, stupid, _meaningless_ word. Stupid dictionary for not giving me any inspiration whatsoever. Stupid Jazz who thought it would be helpful to toss a book of quotations at my head when I pestered, I mean politely asked, for her to lend a hand. Stupid index pointing to a stupid quote by… not-so-stupid… Albert Einstein. Wait a minute. Maybe I can do something with this."

"_Remember your humanity and forget the rest."_

He stopped his pacing long enough to drop into his desk chair and wake his computer from sleep mode. "That would certainly be meaningful enough, especially for me. Soooo… now what?" He could put a spin on a discussion of what it meant to be human, or not. He'd had plenty of sleepless nights contemplating just that. He could add a few sentences on mankind itself. He paused in the act of typing.

"No, no spinoffs into mankind. That would be something for History. Don't wanna do more work than I have to. Too late for that. And History midterms haven't been assigned yet. No way I'm that lucky. Wait on that one. Focus."

He stared blankly at his equally blank screen.

"This would be so much easier if this paper would just write itself. Maybe I can stage a prison break for the Ghost Writer and he'll do it for me out of gratitude. Hmm, no. Not worth it. Although Lancer might give extra credit for the rhyming… No, no, no. I can do this."

He heaved a mighty sigh and tipped back in his chair. Balancing on one leg, he squinted his eyes in the dim light. Slightly dizzy with fatigue, he was able to pretend he was flying among his model rockets and glow-in-the-dark star stickers. This proved to be a mistake, since he almost nodded off. He caught the chair just before it spilled him to the floor. "Don't want to wake the parents and have them come in here guns blazing. Get no work done like that."

Danny's renewed pacing brought him to the far side of the room where his eyes fell on a picture of himself with Sam and Tucker. "I could talk about _being_ humane. Sam is always going on about that. Be thoughtful, sympathetic. Treat all things with kindness. Give aid to people or animals who need it. I do that anyway, but it would be a good topic. And it's not plagiarism if she never wrote it down, right?"

He shook his head irritably. This take on the topic would be no good to him. No matter what _her_ one word topic was, Sam would be sure to turn it into her favorite rant somehow. Then the accusations of cheating would come and Lancer would call Danny's parents. "Protest my innocence. Deaf ears. Condiment explosions. Become jerky, evil nut-job. End of the World. Boom."

Danny glared at the clock. It wasn't getting any earlier and he still hadn't gotten more than "Remember" by Danny Phenton typed down on the page. "Oops. Fix that to Fenton. The paper isn't the only thing that's stupid right now. About to blow my whole secret with a typo."

Cracking a huge yawn, he stretched and headed to the bathroom for some water. The deep reverberations of his father's snores filled the upper story of their brownstone. He splashed some water on his face and filled a glass before heading back to his room. His parents' door was closed tightly, so he took a moment on the way back to stick his head through his sister's door, literally. She was sleeping soundly, a sweet smile on her face and her arms tightly wrapped around Bearbert Einstein, her favorite childhood toy. It was absolutely disgusting… or maybe just excellent blackmail material. Danny smirked mischievously and retreated to his room, trading the glass of water for his camera phone. "Einstein is turning out to be all kinds of useful to me tonight."

After downloading the picture to his hard drive and securing it under three layers of password encryption, he got back down to business. Thinking of Jazz made him think of education, of language, poetry, and nurturing a developing mentality. Maybe he could tap into her years of ear-numbing lectures to reel something out about the condition of humanity as it relates to psychology and some such nonsense.

"How long does this thing have to be, anyway?" Danny stumbled over to his backpack and rummaged around for the notebook that held the scribbled assignment instructions. "Write at least a three page paper on your assigned topic. Mine was Remember. To be turned in Monday morning. Counts as ten percent of my grade. Typed, single space, 12 pt Times font, no repeating of words to make up content. Blah, blah, blah. All the usual rules."

He dropped the notebook next to his keyboard and wiggled the mouse to wake his computer again. And then he stared at the screen. He looked at his marvelous Einstein quotation, typed it into the computer, and then he stared at the screen. Notebook, quotation, computer screen. He was missing something. It was all he could do to keep from screaming his frustration aloud when it finally hit him. As it was, he settled for a mildly delirious giggle. The problem wasn't the assignment. Okay, yes it was, but only in the broadest general sense. The quotation he'd found for the paper was wonderful, awesome, perfect. Einstein was one of his secret personal heroes, after all. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that it was 12:43 in the morning and he'd just wasted at least an hour and a half considering angles to write the wrong topic. Danny had been assigned REMEMBER, not HUMANITY.

He glared at the computer screen as if it had been to blame for his mistake, but slowly everything shifted from dire to absurd. "What the heck. It's too late at night to write anything good anyway. Unless maybe I can put something down on the effects of sleep deprivation for days and days on _remembering_ English topics and passing classes that I sleep through, but want to pass so my parents don't ground me, and I prove I'm smarter than the jocks, who don't have enough _humanity_ not to shove other students into lockers, which always hurts when you hit that darned hook at the back, but I have enough humanity to remember to save them anyway, because I'm the hero and I have good humane… stuff and that's what I do, but I can't write that because the Biology frogs would dissect me for being a gho… Ooh, that didn't make any sense. Better just go to bed." His brain slowly fell into a benumbed state of feverish lethargy. Neither sleeping nor waking, it was more like just existing. This was impossible for now. Just get up and fall into that wonderfully soft bed right over there.

"Set the alarm to wake up early and whip up some half-baked waste of paper." He yawned again. "Just close my eyes and gather up some strength to make it to bed."

A choking cough and a stabbing pain in his neck woke him up. Danny straightened his head from the impossible backwards angle it had been in over the back of his chair. "What was I doing?"

He glanced down at his hands lying limply on the keyboard, then brought them up to scrub roughly at his face. "Right. Going to bed so I can get up bright and early to fail English."

His hand bumped the mouse as he stood, bringing the screen to life one final time. His bloodshot eyes scanned over the open document displayed there and then flew wide in disbelief. There was his title and his name. There was his perfect quote. There was a completely written, nearly _four_ page, single spaced, 12 pt Times font, spell checked English paper.

"What the…?"

Danny shot to his feet, filled with adrenaline. He hastily checked the door and confirmed it was locked. The windows were closed. The blinds were shut. His ghost sense was still. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. The desk lamp was even still giving a pitiful illumination to his perfectly normal room. He quickly saved the document. Then he thought about it and saved another copy to his thumb drive, which he quickly ejected and hid under his pillow. Finally, he printed it twice before reading it through.

"This is too good to be true. I know I said I wanted it to write itself, but I didn't really expect… Hmm, I didn't _wish_ for it to write itself, did I?" Danny thought hard. "No, Desiree won't be able to come out for at least another couple of weeks. I caught her on the 15th. And I never said 'wish'. But that reminds me." He quickly scanned through his computer for changes. No defaced photos, no new files, and the Internet connection remained closed. Technus could not have been involved either. And the Ghost Writer was still safely locked away in jail.

He read through the paper one more time. "This is pretty good, actually. And it looks like something I'd write. That's exactly how I phrase things. Hmm. So was that whole thing earlier a dream or a hallucination? Or is there a kind of sleepwalking that makes you do your homework?" The clock function in the lower corner of his computer screen ticked over to 2:26 am. He glanced back at the alarm clock on his nightstand to confirm the time and decided he didn't care. Tucking the finished paper into his backpack, he flipped off the desk lamp and dove into bed.

"I just hope I remember to turn this in."

* * *

A/N: my own personal-challenge: ≥1000 words. Third person, past tense, single character with no other interaction. And I wanted to channel some of this frustration about not having any inspiration. Stupid useless dictionary and single word topics. I was going to write the actual English paper from Danny's POV, but it wouldn't come out of my head. So I had to fake it. I'll work on my bad habit of run-on sentences in some future fic-let.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	2. Lies 2

Challenge topic #2: Lies  
Character(s): Jazz Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/A/N: I wasn't planning on doing #2 next, but Bluegoo2 and AnneriaWings left me such nice reviews, that I decided to change things up a bit. Thank you for your kind words. This fic is know-it-all lecture and might be kind of heavy to read. If you want the fluff, skip to the end. The rest of these fic-lets will be in no particular order.

* * *

I've noticed a growing problem with our favorite ghostly super-hero during the course of my routine psychological observations. Please indulge me while I organize my thoughts and rally my counter-arguments. When all of my ducks are in a row, I plan to corner him, hash this out, and nip this burgeoning psychosis in the bud.

In the words of a popular TV doctor and serial curmudgeon, "Everybody lies." There are hundreds of books and articles on the topic. We lie to others to support an image we put forth to the world. We lie to get out of trouble or lie to shift the blame to others. We lie to ourselves. Others tell us lies. Family, peers, teachers, news anchors, priests, and working professionals have lied to us our entire lives. White lies. Lies of omission, ignorance, or malicious intent. And yet we are taught that lies are bad, without exception, from the moment we utter our first stuttering words. It is my opinion that the 'do as I say, not as I do' mentality is one of the most severely damaging strictures to inflict on a developing mind.

For children, there is a very fine line between real and make-believe. Their imaginations are very powerful and, leaving ghosts out of it, they may see false monsters that inspire all too real fears. They believe that their thoughts can cause real events to happen magically. Children are inherently selfish, egocentric creatures. It's called monastic awareness. In addition to believing that they are the center of the universe, they can only understand the world as it relates to them. Since they cannot recognize their ego as separate from outside events, the child begins to assume misfortune was due to his existence or actions in some way. Assuming the blame for adversity is one of a child's few ways of controlling the incomprehensible world around him. A natural part of childhood development, this thinking helps a child to cope with reality and feel hopeful and secure, but it can also undermine his self-confidence. For example, telling a simple fib becomes the reason for Goldie the goldfish's untimely death, however unrelated. The child internalizes the responsibility for his pet's death because he cannot otherwise rationalize it. By this means, an external lie becomes a series of internal self-directed lies. 'I'm not smart enough. I can't do anything right. I'll never be okay. I'll never be good enough. It's always my fault. I'll always be alone.'

Authority figures in his life must nurture him, while recognizing this tendency. The child must be convinced that he is an important person who is loved and will be listened to, talked with, and cared for. That he is a worthy person in and of himself, and he is not always to blame for bad things happening.

This has always been a challenge in my household. While they are both loving and ferociously protective, our parents aren't the most hands-on in their rearing of Danny and me. I've had to take on a rather proactive role in Danny's upbringing, dragging Mom and Dad's attention off of their diagrams and theories back onto him. And onto myself, I'll admit it. Kids should come first sometimes.

Danny is right on the cusp. Now I've gone on in more than enough detail without exploring the debate of child vs. adolescent vs. adult. All I will say now is that the entire process in Danny's case has been unbelievably complicated by his most unusual circumstances. He has astonishing personal power on top of a growing hero complex. Yes, his thinking patterns are in the process of developing into those of an adult, with the understanding of duality, a separation between himself and everything else. Yet, he still holds onto the negative internalizations of the lies he is forced to tell. He knows wishful thinking is just that, but he still assumes responsibility for things beyond his control. He hates the lying. He hates himself more for telling lies.

I can see how disheartened he gets. I can only imagine the weight of his burdens. When he finally discovered that I knew his secret? That he didn't have to lie to me anymore? That little smile he gave me? It nearly broke my heart. The hug he gave me, the first in a very, very long time? I never knew such thin arms could feel so strong. My little brother is just as much my hero as he is hero to the rest of the town. And so _my_ responsibility emerges, twofold. As a meddling, overprotective sister and loyal sidekick, I will help him through this.

I will nudge his friends and our parents into expressions of support. I will help him shed the everyday burdens of homework and chores. I will help him as much as he will allow with the extraordinary rigors of ghost fighting. When I do finally corner him, with the Fenton Ghost Fisher and Ghost Shield if necessary, I am going to tell him. I will tell him as often as I can, and in as many ways as I can think of until he is forced to believe me.

The lies you tell others do not separate you from us. They do not make you evil or flawed. They make you more like us than you know. They protect us. They protect you. The lies you tell yourself are wrong. You are loved. We will always listen to and care for you. You are smart enough. You are good enough. Even when you can't do anything right, it's not always your fault, and we know you will do everything in your power to make things right again.

You will be okay, because we will help you. And even if we can't be there with you, you will _never_ be alone.

No lie.

* * *

Personal-challenge: finding enough child psychology articles to make Jazz sound like she knows what she's talking about.

A/N: Thank goodness for spell checkers. Turns out I can't spell most Jazz-speak. Special thanks to the fanfictions: "Disclosures" by Nonny the Anon One and "By and By," by WingsofMorphius over on deviantArt (you might have to get to it through the link on linnea-seretyari's picture, also great to look at) for helping me get into Jazz's head. Go read 'em if you haven't already.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	3. Pet 93

Challenge topic #93: Pet  
Character(s): Sam Manson  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: T  
Personal-challenge: Alliterate anywhere available!

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or its characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

You'd think I'd be the very last person to feel this way. After all, I love all things related to nature, be they plant, animal, or mineral. There isn't a person in Amity that I haven't lectured at some point on the importance of caring for our world and the wonders it holds. Sunsets soothe my spirit. Winds waft about me as I walk. Nature's beauty nurtures my being. The rich loamy earth grounds me even as the nighttime stars pull me heavenward. I've felt this way for as long as I can remember. I thought I always would.

And then She came.

Mother brought her home. Another in a long line of social climbing 'must-haves.' Only this time it wasn't cashmere or silk in the season's latest shade. It wasn't jewelry or an automobile or a rare piece of artwork with which to demean her peers.

No.

It was Pamela's Laureate of the Heart. Also known as Lola, Chihuahua from Hell.

On good days I snicker and call her Karma for my parents' wasteful ways. On bad days I weep.

Four pounds of pampered princess pooch, over-bred and overpriced with a terrible temperament. I see now why they are referred to as armpit piranhas. We detested each other on sight. Her non-stop, high-pitched barking disturbs both the solemn peace of my perfect Night and the cheerful progress of bright Day. No more sleeping in. Almost everyone she meets is instantly under suspicion. The staff, the neighbors, Father and I, and even Mother herself receive the most vicious of growls, snarls and nips. Obviously she's deluded herself into thinking that she's twenty times her true size, a fearsome titan of terror. Grandma is our only line of defense. A quick charge from the scooter and the little runt is routed. Hooray for the Calvary.

Lola stubbornly refuses to be housebroken. For the first time in a very long time I am grateful to be so wealthy. It allows me to replace all the clothes and rugs and bedding she's soiled in her vicious vendetta against me. How does such a small creature get up on my bed, anyway? Any time I try to tote her, she showers me with some unspeakable… ew. Did you know dogs have these scent gland things under their tails? I can only assume it is some primitive survival mechanism. I can't see any other possible reason for them. And don't give me that 'canine calling card' excuse. A noxious smelling, liquid brown substance that clings and stinks so badly is obviously the product of unnatural processes. I'm calling an exorcist.

I did call a dog trainer. She tore off in tears. My only contact with her since that day was a demand for payment stapled to doctor's bill for a dozen stitches. I took a poll. The people at the animal shelter where I volunteer are unanimous in their views. They would all rather face a rabid Rottweiler than one of these glorified rodents. There are rumors of wonderful Chi's and Chi-crosses. I think a 'cross' is the only way to purge the demon from any Chi descendants.

Lola can't even regulate her own body temperature. She shivers and whines constantly. Mother must dress her every day, rain or shine. Formal or casual: dresses and coats, bonnets and bows, hats and harness vests, holiday costumes and hoodies, and God help me… heels. Why does something small enough to fit into a traditional German beer stein need its own closet? I suppose I should be grateful for this much, at least. Now that Mother has this darling little dolly to play dress up with, she isn't so determined to get me into some appallingly pink pouf.

But the greatest of Lola's faults is her love for Danny. Only Danny. Instead of being common ground for us, he has become our bone of contention. Instead of her usual yipping, Lola… well, I'm not sure there is any word for the noise she makes when Danny comes over. It's a shrill screech straight from the slimiest sci-fi movie monster ever screened. It sounds as if she's being gutted. In what dimension of the damned does this noise qualify as a delighted welcome? It's bad enough when he comes to the front door as Danny Fenton to enjoy a night of movies and popcorn. It's now virtually impossible to stealthily sneak back into my room after a night of ghost-hunting anymore. Lola's shrieking siren is better than any burglar alarm for catching an out past curfew teen. I have to say my goodbyes en-route before he wings me, intangible, through the window of my room.

When he _is_ over legitimately, Lola must be with him at all times. Closed in my room? Lola fusses furiously outside the door. Crafting snacks in the kitchen? She's underfoot begging for a share of our bounty. Movie night in the basement? She's right there in his lap. Apparently I'm not allowed on the couch with them. My approach is met with acute aggression. The last time I attempted to sit beside him, Lola attached herself, fangs first, to my arm. At least she finally achieved the purpose for which Mother acquired her: accessory.

And Danny? He finds it funny. Of course. He panders to Lola. Baby talk and battles of tug of war. He ferrets her bits of food when he thinks no one's looking. He winds her up into a whirlwind of hyperactive frenzy, dashing around the house with reckless abandon. We've had to hide all of the breakables that weren't firmly mounted to walls or floor. His only concession to my sensibilities in the matter is his pet-name for her. 'Who's my Little Rat? Whozit? Huh?' If only. If she were a rat I could humanely trap and dispose of her.

At least Chihuahuas only live… 15 years… or more. Oh no. I will win this war. But just in case I don't, I've already set up a couple of contingency plans. After all, the other benefit of being well to do is that I can be _out_, and buy my very own abode the _second_ I turn eighteen. There's no dishonor in a well-planned retreat.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I did write this with a Chihuahua curled up on my lap. She belongs to one of my roommates. Kenya Dewitt-Wright (a.k.a. Kenny) isn't nearly as bad as Lola, since she's been trained from a very young age, but she does greet me with that unearthly wail every time I come home. Everyone else, even her owner, gets ferocious yipping. And it's a battle every night to get her to go to bed with her owner instead of clinging to me like a furry little leech. Fortunately for her I love her more than I hate her.


	4. Explosion 63

Challenge topic #63: Explosion  
Character(s): Sam Manson  
Genre: Angst  
Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

I've heard people say that hope is supposed to carry you through your dark times. It's supposed to give you the strength to pull yourself out of bed and go on about your life.

Hope is supposed to be warm, strong and beautiful. But it's not. Not for me. Sure, my Hope is beautiful enough, but it's brittle, cold and it makes me bleed. It's a million slivers of diamond-edged, crystalline perfection, cutting me. My Hope has shattered and the pieces have exploded through my safe little world.

Because I was safe before he was taken away from me. Through the everyday horrors of public high school and disapproving parents to the supernatural monstrosities that would rip into the quiet of our hometown, I never feared. I was safe. The worst the world could throw at us seems now like nothing more than exaggerated, harmless fluff dressed up in garish, but limited colors. It could be set aside at the end of a sugar rush Saturday morning with the rest of the cartoons. Laugh it off. 'Impossible' was a nonsense word. The daily grace of our immortal, untouchable lives was beyond such foolishness. We had a feeling that anything we desired could happen, even when the outlook did not warrant it.

He kept the Terrible away and made me feel warm, secure… needed.

Not anymore.

That explosion of shattered hope still clings to me, though it has been so very long since detonation. I thought the damage would bleed me out, but I survived. The darkness that was my refuge brings me no solace. My strength is gone, bled away. Gone with him.

I stand up again and brush away the fragments and my hands bleed. Gone with him.

I shake my clothes free of it and bathe until I think my skin will slough away with my happiness, and my heart bleeds. Gone with him.

I stir my voice to tell him of some passing thought, but he's not here to hear me, and my lips bleed. Gone with him.

I hear a voice that sends my pulse racing again, but it's not him, and my ears bleed. Gone with him.

I see a lean, black haired silhouette, but it's not him, and my eyes bleed. Gone…

Every odd moment, waking or in dreams, I find another perfect, shining razor of crystal pure Hope. Wounding me. I want so much to be rid of it, but hope is the last gift he gave me, so I push it back into my skin. I send it deep down to the emptiness inside. They say hope can make you whole. I'm still waiting. This Hope…it's beautiful … and Terrible.

* * *

A/N: Meh. I kind of shoehorned another story about grief and hope into this short fic for Sam. It's okay, but not great. This one was originally inspired by the Greek personification of hope, a minor goddess called Elpis. They considered her to be as dangerous as the other evils locked away in Pandora's box, but much more potent. She was a beautiful monster. Depending on the legend, she either willingly held onto the inside of the box when its evils were released so that she would not be lost to mankind, or we're really darned lucky she didn't escape and wreak havoc on us all. You can decide for yourself what Danny being 'gone' really means.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	5. Ghost 18

Challenge topic #18: Ghost  
Character(s): Danny Fenton  
Genre: Angst  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

I know you. You're pain. You're grief. You are frustration and anguish and defeat.

You're weak; broken in every way that once mattered to you. And I would feel sorry for you except for the fact that you turned your back on their memories. On everything they taught you and would have wanted for you. Losing them was shattering, but instead of picking up the pieces you turned those broken fragments into weapons against the rest of the world. Because rage is so much easier to carry than any of those other emotions. Hurting others makes it easier to forget, just for a little while, how much you're hurting yourself.

Enough. You are ten years of consistently making the worst possible decision at every turn. You've mocked me for my promise, but I stand by it. I will never become you. It's time to lay this ghost.

* * *

A/N: Really, really short, but I couldn't think of anything else. I was inspired by the phrase 'lay a ghost', which means to cause to disappear or become quiet _to lay a ghost / doubts. _ He doesn't necessarily have to be facing his future self here, just the idea of him.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	6. Flames 22

Challenge topic #22: Flames  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley, OC  
Genre: Romance DF x OC  
Rating: T, some suggestive language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any of the companies mentioned herein. But I have owned some of their stuff. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah. I gotta see this. This is a culmination of almost a year of hard work. Blood, sweat, and tears. Countless hours of toil. So many sleepless nights, lying there, fearing this day would never come. Seemingly endless searches, tracing down each and every last little detail. Every piece of this breathtaking puzzle. And now we're here. A day of days…"

"Dude, do you want to see her or not? You're making it sound like she's only here because of you and you didn't even do any of the work."

"Yes I did. I found that place in Kansas that had that… whatchamacallit thing she needed. And you and me are practically brothers. That means she's as important to me as she is to you."

"Riiiiight. Tell me, man, what color is the sky in your world?"

"Just open the door, already. I can't wait any more."

Danny grumbled and slid open the doors to the prefab shed tucked into the back corner of the yard. A fine shower of dust shook loose from the door tracks, giving her an almost angelic halo of golden light in the warm, late morning sunshine. It was hard to believe that this ordeal was indeed at an end. But here she was: housed, whole, … and home. Tucker manfully sniffled back his tears of awe and brought his video camera up to document this momentous event.

"She's almost perfect, Danny."

"Nothing 'almost' about it, Tucker. She is perfect. In every way, down to every last little detail. I made sure of it. Perfect." He ran his hand lovingly down her side.

"Okay, then. Give us the rundown for posterity."

"Alright, but if I find this video on the internet later I'm trapping both Klemper and the Box Ghost in your bedroom with a ghost shield and freezing you inside."

"Threat noted."

"She was born in 1970 in a little place called Hamtramck, Michigan. I don't know what happened between then and when I found her, but she was obviously used hard. She was sitting abandoned in a tumbledown barn outside of Nashville, IN, over in Brown County. I contacted the property owners. The said she'd just been dumped there. No one ever came forward. It was so sad, Tucker. She was just… wasted. A total wreck. I called Dad out to take a look. We weren't even sure if there was enough left of her _to _save, but we had to try. It would have been as much of a crime to leave her there as it was that she'd been so abused in the first place."

Danny sighed before starting to pace slowly around the inner perimeter of the shed. His eyes slid along her curves as he continued their story. She seemed to almost smile at him in encouragement.

"I've got pictures somewhere. You wouldn't recognize her. Painful as it was, we had to start by completely stripping her. You've gotta make sure the body is sound before you can rebuild the soul."

Tucker gazed lovingly at this vision before him. He hung on every word.

"Dad was a lot of help. He's always so enthusiastic, you know? Kept my spirits up when I was ready to give up on her. And Mom was the one who found me most of those part-time jobs I had to take on in order to fund this renewal. The rest of the money actually came from my girl here, herself."

"I still haven't figured out when you managed to sleep." Tucker chuckled as he zoomed in, following Danny's footsteps around their glorious inspiration.

"Eh, I'll sleep when I'm dead. I don't seem to need much anymore. And researching her background and figuring out everything she needed and how to give it to her really helped my study habits. Schoolwork is so much easier than something like this. I even owe her my improved math grades. Balancing my budget and calculating torques. It all finally fell into place."

"Alright, Danny. Gimme her stats and be quick about it. This girl deserves her night out on the town."

"She's certainly earned it. Okay. She's a bit longer than the competition at 110 inches, four lamps instead of two, and much different skin than her cousins. Her heart is a 440, 'six pack' and she can crank out 390 horses. Only the 426 Hemi option was more powerful, with 425." Danny popped the hood and let the camera ogle her pristine engine compartment. "See here? She's wearing a hi-rise aluminum manifold with three two-barrel carburetors from Holley, center-hung float deuces. I considered the Magnum for a while, but you just can't beat this set up. It's a '69 style instead of the original steel Chrysler '70, because that's all Edelbrock has retooled so far, and I wasn't going to go with some swap-meet piece of scrap for my baby girl. But that's fine, since the aluminum is smaller and lighter and works better, in my opinion. Best yet, the carbs are California Evaporation Control System versions, engineered just right for center-carb jetting, and reworked to be just a couple of steps richer than stock. No way her cylinders are going lean. And this way she gets pretty good mileage for an old girl. That's how I sold the idea of a gas-guzzling muscle car to Sam."

Tucker paused in his slow-pan of the engine bay. "Danny, are you speaking English? 'Cause I have no idea what you just said."

Danny directed an exasperated stare at Tucker past the camera's red light. He pointed sharply at the engine block and gave each stab of his finger a simplified descriptor. "Big. Shiny. Make go fast. Vroom."

"Aw, don't be like that. If you were talking tech I'd be right there with you, but this is pure auto."

"Whatever, Tuck. You've got it all on tape. Go look it up on the web later." He closed the hood softly. "Now, from grill to tailpipe. She's got an E-body, which was new at the time she was made and took bits and pieces from both the A-body cars and the more mid-size B-bodies. The designer got her grill from a mid-60's Charger prototype he'd also designed, and it looks great on her. The taillights wrap all the way across the back of the car, with the backup light centered in the rear. She's got a long hood and short rear deck. Her engine bay is enormous. I can almost crawl inside next to the engine. Sam did once, when I needed her small hands to connect some wiring."

"How is it that Sam is so tolerant of all the time you spend locked away in this shed with this car, Danny? I'd think a girlfriend would want priority over a hunk of Detroit steel. No matter how awesome it is. She is a wet dream on wheels, but still."

"Hey! Don't talk that way in front of her."

Tucker laughed out loud. Steadying the camera on Danny's outraged face, he tried to reason. "It's just a car, man. It isn't like she… or Sam can hear me."

"Don't give me that, Tucker. I know you name your PDA's. She's more than just a car. She's _my car._ Anyway, Sam's cool about it. With all of her ethical crusades she knows how it is to be so passionate about something." He pulled a chamois cloth off a hook on the wall and polished his way across the front quarter-panel before tightening his face into a smug smile. "And besides, the seats were re-upholstered way before the car was in any shape to have them installed again. So the big back seat was just sitting in that corner over there, perfect for us to sit on, and talk, and… other things. Fluorescent overhead lights and the smell of motor oil can be amazingly romantic."

"So, can I bring…"

"No."

"But…"

"NO, Tucker. Let's wrap this up. I promised to go pick Sam up soon. Now, my baby here has four-on-the-floor manual transmission, which includes a pistol-grip Hurst shifter and a Dana 60 axle. Inside she's got a heavy-duty Rallye suspension and Rallye instrument cluster with a 150 mph speedometer, an 8000-rpm tachometer and an oil pressure gauge. Two door, hardtop coupe. Her hood has two scoops that I've modified to feed into the air cleaner. Flush, pull-up door handles, curved door glass, and an interior door lock recessed in the armrest. The bench seats have folding center armrests that I've modified a bit to hold a small, insulated beverage/snack compartment. Dad's idea, but I couldn't say no. Safety precautions include a collapsible steering column, two-piece door impact beam, and a box-section roll bar for rollover protection. She's the performance model, Road and Track, with 15 inch 60-series tires that are five and a half inches wide for great traction and I've made sure she's got power steering and front disk brakes. Oh, and thank you again for the rims."

He kneeled down and waved at the wheels that had been Tucker's last birthday present to him. Together they fist-bumped and chanted "Rims. Big spinning rims."

"She can do 0-60 in 6.2 seconds and the ¼ mile in 13.7 seconds at 105 mph. One of less than 13,000 ever made. Head outside and I'll roll her out."

Tucker moved to a good vantage point on the back steps and steadied the camera to film the grand coming-out. Danny slipped behind the wheel and, with a furtive glance up at Tucker, leaned forward a bit and whispered to his beauty as he turned the ignition. "Talk dirty to me, baby." The engine rumbled to life and the car rolled gracefully out of the shed. He pulled to a stop in the middle of the yard and left her idling in the sunlight. Standing to the side, Danny threw his arms joyously skyward. "May I present the incomparable 1970 Dodge Challenger RT 440, in glorious hi-gloss black with pearlescent silver/white centerline racing stripe."

Tucker made mock 'cheering crowd' noises and closed in on Danny and the car once more. Danny glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then reached over and turned off the camera.

"What's the deal, Danny?"

"Just want to show you her non-standard options… off the record." With one last check to make sure they were unobserved, Danny powered up a medium sized ectoblast and took aim at the car.

"Aah! What are you doing!" Tucker screeched.

"Just watch." He cut loose. The blast struck the driver side door… and dissipated into a faint green glow that arced over the car's entire surface before seemingly soaking into its skin. Danny then chucked a small piece of gravel at one of the four headlamps. It bounced away with a small green flash before it even made contact. "One of my part-time jobs was at a repro-shop that had molds for most of the fiberglass pieces of the body. I was such an ideal employee, they let me lay-up all of my own parts. Instead of the standard mix, she's got an electrically conductive carbon nanofiber-fiberglass polymer composite. That's where the rest of the money to rebuild her came from. I co-patented this stuff with my parents. They helped me tweak the chemistry and get all the materials and fixtures to make the fibers and such, but it was my idea. I did all the work to figure out the mix ratio and the percentage of nanotubes to add. I worked out how to size the fibers so everything wet properly for ideal conduction. I did all the test lay-ups. This stuff is way too expensive for commercial use right now, but the government is paying us big bucks to play with it on their super secret stealth tech prototypes. My girl is so perfect that she's gonna pay my way through college and probably grad school."

Tucker's eyes glazed over. "Dude."

"I know. Everything from the outside in is conductive. Metallic powder in the white paint. Conductive carbon black in the black paint. Conductive composite or sheet metal body panels. Ecto-treated steel frame. All tied into a modified ecto-converter I cobbled together from my parents' original blueprints. I can boost her with my own powers or with enemy ectoblasts. That's why I'm so stoked about that huge engine bay she has. Those inner walls are false. I bulked them up to hide the second gen converter, some energy storage cells, and the ghost shield I've added. I can't touch her for very long in ghost form, 'cause it zaps me a little bit, but I've just about got that problem worked out. It won't suck me dry or anything and there's no problem when I'm in human form. Another thing to work out, the shield is still in beta. I'm still trying to adjust the energy so it won't be in the visible light spectrum. Bright green flashes are so conspicuous. And it can't handle anything bigger than a medium sized projectile. Good enough for road debris and small caliber bullets, but not anything like Skulker's missiles or falling buildings. We've still got a ways to go together."

Tucker shook his head when Danny practically drooled in anticipation. "So you're saying she's a hybrid?"

"Heh, just like me. The ecto energy gathered by the converter can power both the shield and the engine. That's the other reason Sam's so cool with it. Now that she's complete, this baby'll probably get better mileage than that pansy little hybrid-electric job she's been eyeing. Mid to high 40's miles per gallon, easy."

"I am in awe, man. You gotta let me look over some of your wiring specs. And when are you going to hook up my ride with some of these extras?"

"Don't worry. As soon as we've worked out the kinks, you and Sam are getting these modifications. And you're gonna earn it by helping me with tweaking this shield and designing some kind of masking tech for the ecto-signature she's developing."

"Cool. She's only missing one more thing, now."

"What the heck are you talking about, Tuck? I already told you she's perfect."

"No, man, you've got to give her a flame job. It's a classic!"

Danny let his eyes flash a warning green as he frowned heavily at his friend. "Back away from the car, Foley."

"No, hear me out. I'm not talking about some gaudy, over the top, bright orange crap. I'm talking subtle, elegant. Just like your girl. Something in a really light airbrush, green and blue, like your powers. It's fitting since she's ghost powered, too. Swirl the flames along that center stripe, or maybe in a thin line down the sides. Let everyone see she's so cool, she's hot."

Danny turned his frown towards the car. "You are so full of it."

"You know you want to. C'mon, it would be great."

"Maybe."

"Besides," Tucker continued, "Flames would fit right in, because everyone in town is going to spontaneously combust from jealousy when they see you driving this beauty."

Danny snorted in laughter. "Fine, I'll think about it. Now hop in. It's time to go for a ride."

* * *

A/N: Did I have anyone fooled? I held off almost two pages before I wrote anything that blatantly said "Car." Then I got carried away with the details and some of my dream science in the ghost-tech. But what can I say? You're already online, go check her out. The 1970 Challenger is Poetry in American steel. Truly inspirational. 6 pages worth, actually. Hope you enjoyed reading. -S&S, what-happened-2-nice.


	7. Rules 28

Challenge topic #28: Rules  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson  
Genre: Friendship  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

It started with a bet. Tucker issued a challenge to his favorite we're-not-lovebirds during the leisurely stroll to school that bright Spring morning. It was the perfect opportunity for such a thing. Parent/ teacher conferences would cut the school day in half, giving them both the trials of a normal school day and the vagaries of a holiday with time that needed killing.

He dared them to spend the entire day without speaking to each other. He bet them that they couldn't do it.

To ensure that the conditions of the bet would be met, some rules had to be set. Hah! He rhymed. Whack.

The rules would be as follows. No words could be spoken. No passing of notes. No talking to a third party with the intention of communicating meaning to the other. No random expositions. Texting options on phones would be disabled, so no undercover contact could occur. No use of the rumored psychic connection. Of course you don't have a psychic connection, of course. Laughter of any sort is not considered communication, and may be considered fair game. No Morse Code. No sign language could be used… unless it was the ASL sign for 'I love you.' Whack. Yes, on to business.

All communication would be held via informal gestures, touch, body language, and facial expression. The only exceptions to the rules would be communication to Tucker himself, to anyone not involved in the bet, and in emergency situations such as in the event of a ghost attack or runaway truck. No one that was not involved in the bet could be informed of the existence or nature of the bet. Doing so would mean immediate forfeit. You know, like when you think or talk about 'The Game.' Dang it. I just lost The Game.

All interactions would be observed by Tucker himself, which would be easy since all the classes and assemblies they had to attend today would be taken together. The winner of the bet would receive one open-ended, no strings attached favor of his or her choosing to be claimed at a later date. It was too juicy a prize to let go.

Tucker didn't tell them that it was also the perfect opportunity to deal another blow to Danny's cluelessness and Sam's uncharacteristic shyness. Oh, the blushy-ness would abound, and he would be there to record every moment of it. And even if he lost, they would all win.

* * *

A/N: It's a little short, but I'm happy with it. My personal challenge: write it completely in descriptive style. No speech between the characters. That way it would fit better with the idea of a no-talking bet. I didn't quite succeed in my challenge, since I have some speech-type lines in there, but I left them alone because I thought they were really funny. Everything is really funny this late at night.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	8. Math 9

Challenge topic #9: Math  
Character(s): Danny Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, YouTube, or the idea of pulling out a baby tooth with a rocket. I saw that online, posted by Bradleycharris and his son.

* * *

My true nemesis was never Plasmius or a dark version of myself. It was a slow growing monster. I've struggled against it for more than half my life now. Vlad only wishes he could be this scary. My _real_ Ultimate Enemy? Math. My problem was originally rooted in boredom, I guess. What eight-year-old boy wants to memorize anything? Multiplication tables meant nothing to me. The pitiful explanations Ms. Zajeski could give me didn't help at all. Six times nine couldn't do anything for me even when it was six piles of nine socks. I only wondered if maybe there were some socks missing under the bed somewhere when I came up with a different number every time. Who cares how many slices of pizza were eaten at a party where there are this many boys and that many girls and each boy eats one more slice than each girl? I was too young to order pizza. That was someone else's problem. I could find no joy in math. There were video games to be played, Frisbees to be thrown, and bullies to run away from. I only did it to get the teacher to leave me alone, really. I had to answer the call of my favorite class! Recess!

As I moved on up through the grades, things got worse. Bad enough I'm a scrawny kid from a family of freaks. The teachers started calling us up to the board. I'm sure you've all had this nightmare. There is no embarrassment like public embarrassment. Somehow that feeling in the pit of my stomach when the teacher called my name ached even worse than what I feel when a certain someone talks about tearing me apart 'molecule by molecule.' There just aren't enough words to describe it. I'd be called into battle, in front of everyone, and I got my butt whooped every time. I'm scarred for life. You'd think they'd stop calling on me after a while, but there must be some kinda quota on the amount of scorn teachers are supposed to pile on the slow kids. Like cops and traffic tickets. Maybe they get paid more if the students leave every day in tears. Even knowing that I'm not the only one that has a problem with math doesn't make me feel better. Other people can hate math as much as they want and it won't help me get my homework done. It could be worse, I suppose. At least I'm not that poor girl who wet herself when polynomials were introduced.

And then there was High School Math. I've heard mutterings that it falls somewhere between the fifth and sixth levels of Hell. Ugh. How many are there? Negative numbers? Why didn't they just call it subtraction? At least we'd already covered that. Then they started to add letters into the mix. What the…? This wasn't English! Why were there letters in my numbers? This made less sense than ever. Roots belong on trees and I still haven't found a square one, even in the Ghost Zone. Vectors and Matrices sounded like French foods. I'm pretty darned sure I saw a hypotenuse at the Zoo, not far from Delilah. The F.O.I.L. method? Mine was better. Catch some fish, throw in some foil with butter, onion, and salt and pepper. Throw it on the camp fire to cook. Eat. And no one, absolutely no one could explain to me why there's a Number Theory when you are always supposed to come up with the same answer to a given problem. My folks are scientists. I know that when you keep getting the same answer then it's supposed to be fact, not theory.

I get my share of nightmares. They're hard to avoid when you and everyone you love fight life or death battles on a regular basis. Ghost themed nightmares were an interesting addition to the mix. A nice change of pace, you might say. Then they started fusing with the math nightmares. You haven't had a heart-pounding-out-of-your-chest nightmare until you are fighting a twisted, evil future self whose finishing move is a geometry pop quiz. Stop laughing. I'd like to see you wake up without the cold sweats and screaming after that one.

Skipping homework has only dug my hole deeper. I can get this stuff… eventually… with a lot of explanations from Jazz… and anyone else I can find… and time. Time is the one thing I don't have right now. Well, that and the patience to figure this stuff out. And it probably wouldn't hurt to _want_ to do my math homework, even a little bit. Detentions where I'm forced to do extra math homework for not doing my original math homework are just frustrating. Could we maybe go over why I don't get this? No, it's time for heartless punishment.

Now I know I've got good problem solving skills. I'd be all dead if I didn't. But everything in my life has geared me for immediate results. I don't have the patience for a subject that turns my stomach, gets me contempt from my teachers (and the Fruit Loop), and means absolutely nothing to me. The only reason I haven't caved is that I don't give up. On anything. It's one of the few strengths I've ever seen in myself, even when everyone else calls it me just being stubborn. I decided somewhere in here to come at this like any of the other fights I get into. I'd do it on _my _terms.

So I've started to come at this backwards. I probably learn better by doing things the hard way anyway. Now one of the things Jazz has repeated _over and over and over_ while trying to pound this stuff into my head was that physics is applied math, chemistry is applied physics, biology is applied chemistry, and psychology is applied biology. It all comes back to these evil little squiggles, symbols, and numbers. I know I'll never live in Jazz's world, but I have fun in physics. I can order model rockets online that can go about 300 feet up. If I'm serious about it, I can build my own and do maybe five times that. Yes, multiplication… and flying things. There's also some trajectory and acceleration/deceleration stuff in there to keep the rocket from landing in Elmerton. I have a great rocket story, too. Dad let me pull out one of my big front baby teeth with a model rocket when it started to come loose. Got the whole thing on the camcorder. Mom was so angry when she found the video, but I think she thought it was funny, deep down. She still gets me a rocket kit for every birthday.

You want some more physics in action? One day, I was taking my bath and I figured out that when I sunk my Dumpty-Humpty limited edition mug upside down in the water, the temperature of the air inside rose. Look at me, I'm a scientist! After deciding that maybe I had too much free time on my hands after all, I went and did some digging. My Applied Science text book said this mystery could be explained using the ideal gas equation and the variation of pressure according to the depth of the water… coooooool!

Chemistry can be a blast, too. Literally. Have you ever seen someone drop sodium in water? Check out YouTube. There are almost 3000 videos and some of them are _awesome._ Some guy managed to burn down a whole waterfront a couple of decades ago. Now I don't want to go quite that far, but if I could just get my hands on an ounce or two... Biology isn't as much fun for me. It can be almost as scary as math itself considering how worried I am about what's happened to mine, but… you just can't beat the classic comedy of dead frog puppet theater. And I'll leave the psychology to geeks like Jazz. I think the little time I do have is better spent letting her try to figure me out than trying to figure out other people.

So, the method to my madness… I find something interesting in my sciences or in the things I like doing and work back to my daily third period torture session. Geometry comes in useful in both pool and air hockey. I'm invincible now. Although, I can tell you right now that Angle-Side-Side is not a valid geometry theorem like Side-Angle-Side (SAS) or Angle-Side-Angle (ASA). Heh. I told Dash it was. He got in so much trouble for that one. Totally worth the beating I took from him later. Good times. And what do you know? Cooking can at least give me a start in fractions and algebra. After all, the whole family has memorized Dad's fudge recipe in case of emergency. What are all of those Cups in Tablespoon terms?

I'm not quite ready for Trig with its sines and cosines, but I think I heard something on one of those science channels about how rivers and streams always get wavy like that. I've definitely seen that while flying over the countryside. Calculus, hmmm, except for the falling thing, I'm gonna leave that alone too. I do really want to figure out the equation for my speed during freefall, both in human and ghost forms. Tuck and Sam have absolutely refused to stand on the edge of a very tall building with the speed gun while I drop past them. Killjoys. How else am I supposed to figure it out? Ug. Math.

I know that math can be a beautiful, worthwhile field of study and I'm totally jealous of the people who can do it like they're just breathing. I can only hope that I can find pieces to this puzzle that will bring me a bit closer to understanding my little place in the universe. I'll get there, and when I do I'm going to grab it by the neck and make it tell me all its secrets. Until then it can terrorize the upperclassmen. I've got my own battles to fight.

Oh, and a final word of warning from me to you… even if you hate math, drawing a picture of trains crashing in a big fiery heap instead of solving the problem of departure and arrival times will get you an automatic fail, no matter how detailed your sketch. Trust me.

* * *

A/N: The bath part is for you fangirls out there. You're welcome.


	9. Fountain 43

Challenge topic #43: Fountain  
Character(s): 'ship of choice  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

A penny for his thoughts.

I wish to be the first one he thinks of in the morning. I want even more to be the last on his mind as he falls asleep at night.

A nickel to be found worthy.

I wish to be honest and true. I want to stand firm in my beliefs, to speak strongly of my values, and to bring that proud light to his eyes as he looks at me.

A dime for precision.

I wish to make him stop and take note. I want that he will find me special, precious, and unique.

A quarter, two bits for a holler.

I wish to be the name on his lips. Be it a crowded room, number one on his speed dial, or whispers in a lazy summer day dream. I want him to call for my attention.

A shiny half dollar for luck.

I wish for good fortune. For both him and me. Handsome John F. for the draw.

A golden Sacajawea for bravery.

I wish to stand at his side. I want to help him face his every hardship and foe. I want even more to share his every triumph and glory.

Six coins for six wishes. A bargain for me.

Six coins in the fountain, my singular goal. I wish to be together.

I've been here every day till now, come rain or shine.

I'll be back tomorrow to toss them again.

I'll return every day until these wishes come true, and he is mine as I am his.

* * *

personal-challenge: ≥250 words. Any unfulfilled 'ship will fit here, but I favor DxS. As if you hadn't noticed by now.

Inspiration: wishing wells, penny for your thoughts, not worth a plugged nickel, stop on a dime, the sports cheer: "Two bits, four bits, six bits, a dollar ... all for _(player's name)_, stand up and holler!" Half dollars are most commonly distributed in Vegas, which brought in both luck and the draw. Sacajawea was the Indian guide for the Lewis and Clark expedition. She had to be pretty darned brave to travel so far into what was essentially enemy territory.


	10. Wishes 49

Challenge topic #49: Wishes  
Character(s): Danny Phantom  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

Now the last thing you want to go and do when exploring the Ghost Zone is to plunge recklessly through an unfamiliar door. Identifying markings are subtle, hard to read, and invisible without considerable concentration. You aren't going to see more than just another floating purple door if you're in too much of a hurry. Which means that unless you take proper care to get your bearings, you never know just where you'll find yourself. You might find yourself in another time. You might find yourself in some random location in the Real World. You might find yourself in the worst possible place at the worst possible time. Or, most likely, you'll find yourself in the lair of a ghost. Contrary to popular opinion in the human realm, most ghosts just want to be left alone. Or, in other words, they aren't all megalomaniac nutjobs intent on world domination and/or spreading their own personal brand of evil across the face of reality. This being said, even the moderately friendly type of ghost is going to be more than a little peeved to find some random stranger barging in to their lair and disturbing what precious little peace they've managed to find in their afterlife. It's just rude. If you are really unlucky, it'll be the lair of an _un_friendly ghost, who was peeved to begin with and will be more than willing to take it out on you.

So all in all, it's really a very bad idea.

Of course, there are times when you really don't have much of a choice. For example, when a prank gone badly wrong has brought you to the attention of a certain tyrannical warden who has a very long memory, an unhealthy amount of interest in exercising his role as 'executioner', and way too many goons following his every order. Honestly, where does he find them all? Coming to a new understanding of the phrase, 'discretion is the better part of valor,' Danny decided the time had come to haul his ghostly tail outta there.

Now in the particular area of the Ghost Zone that Danny found himself there wasn't much in the way of cover. All that could be seen were a supply of the ever-present doors, swirls of ectoplasm, and some scattered and disappointingly small floating rocks. Nothing presented much promise of a hiding spot. Feeling his power rapidly draining due to his headlong flight, and moving further and further from any landmarks he recognized, Danny began to get a bit desperate. There had to be something he could do to shake his pursuers. He spotted a slightly larger landmass ahead and angled towards it, hoping for a cave or at least something solid to place his back against for a chance to fight back.

The rock in question offered neither of these things, but it did give him a brief moment out of sight of his pursuers. And it gave him a choice: door one, door two, door three, or door four. Decisions, decisions. Closing his eyes, Danny mentally recited his 'eenie-meanie-miney-moe' in record time and settled on door number three.

He slipped through and glanced around to be sure nothing was about to eat him. So far so good. It looked as if he'd come out somewhere in the Real World. A long thin shoreline of iridescent sand stretched away to either side beneath him and he faced a dark ocean of swirling tides beneath dreary clouds. Excellent. Now to find some cover in case he was followed.

Shooting out over the waves, he kept one eye on the door behind him and one on the water below. He figured he could submerge if the door opened again. It was unlikely any follower would look around for more than 5 minutes or so, and he could hold his breath twice that long. The simple drones employed by Walker would never think to look underwater because the environment was so alien to what they were used to. They'd quickly loose interest when no immediate hiding place showed itself, moving on to another door.

Sure enough, the portal creaked open behind him. Danny took a lung popping breath and dove. He'd flown far enough out that the water was fairly deep. Diving deeply enough that his glow would not be visible at the surface, he looked around… and quickly forgot all about his dangerous situation.

They were everywhere. Twirling and twisting in glistening splendor, they glowed with a mysterious inner light that was _not_ of either of his worlds. This wasn't the Ghost Zone, but neither was it the human world. Blue and green and gold. Orange, white, and black. Pinks and reds. Purples and silver and brown. Tiger stripes, spots, and abstract swirls. The closest description Danny could come up with for them was fish, but to his knowledge no such fish had ever swum the seas. They were jewel bright, darting and zipping around him as if they didn't even feel the water that supported them. He'd almost say they resembled the bright tropical reef fish that lived in warm oceans… except that he could _feel_ them. He could almost _hear_ them, for all they had no voices.

The empathic component of his powers was one he didn't like to dwell on. Ghosts were made of and fed on raw human emotion, converting it to usable spectral energies. And so, to a certain extent, did he. Danny wasn't as dependent on them as a full ghost, since he could still eat regular food and his powers tended to be self-generating, a kind of cold fusion that created energy from his own emotional state and fed it back into his ghost half. But if the feelings of his peers were running high enough, and he shifted just so in his awareness towards his ghostly side… he could feel them. For the most part he kept himself firmly rooted in human thinking, and his ghost half was content to soak in the energies that came to him passively, like a plant basking in the sun. He didn't really want to think about what was happening, and he had sworn silently to himself that he would never reach for those feelings, never incite them and drive them higher. He would never make humans fear just to feed off the high-energy feast that resulted.

But Danny could feel the fish-like creatures around him now. He wasn't reaching. They were pushing. Their emotional energies were so pure, so highly refined that they seemed to push into him and light him up from the inside, just like they did the fish swimming around him. He was tempted to explore further, but his straining lungs told him to surface.

The coast was clear. Hyperventilating slightly, he took a final big breath and submerged again. Although he couldn't actually hear them, their voices filled his awareness. There were tiny jewel-like fish whose energy tickled him, effervescent and light, reminding him of childish, joy filled laughter. There larger fish, moving aggressively, wanting and seeking, greedy or just acquisitive. There were fish that felt… loving. Some were dancing; some were wistful; some were fulfilled. There were sedate fish, mature and deliberate. They'd reach their destination soon enough and were content to enjoy the scenery in the meantime. There were desperate fish, dashing with uncontrolled urgency. It had to be now, now, now, or never. Away from the others, isolated by their erratic movements were odd, mish-mashed fish. They seemed to be comprised of bits and pieces of completely different 'species'. Some of their voices were eerie, reminding him of the background wailing of the Ghost Zone. Others were shrill. All of them sounded confused, lost. They felt like… madness. Danny shied away and broke for the surface again.

He knew he couldn't stay forever, but just one more dive couldn't hurt. Right?

He dove.

Down past the glittering mollies and guppies with their laughing dance. Down past the koi and damselfish. Past the darting silversides and the cautious clownfish. Danny sank to the bottommost reaches of the dim overhead light. Here the fish felt… slower, heavier. They sang slow, melancholy songs of regret, of dreams just out of reach and opportunities slipped by.

And then Danny looked down.

The dim shapes below most closely resembled sharks, but Danny felt that calling these _things_ by that name would be a great insult to sharks everywhere. They were sleek and dark. They moved with deadly purpose, cutting the waters below him. The more Danny watched them the more he became convinced that the lethal fish weren't hiding in the darkened depths below; they were _creating the darkness._ Where the fish above were filled with light, illuminating the waters around them, these were _absorbing_ the light and leaving the world about them shadowy. Threatening. The light from above reached no further because these things would not allow it to do so.

He'd seen the sharks of Earth's oceans on TV. Scary as they were, they were also impersonal. It was clear from their smooth lines and focused motion that they existed for a purpose: to feed. Danny had heard reports of shark attack survivors, talking about that soulless look in a shark's eyes. How they seemed empty and cold. As horrible as it might be to find yourself on the menu, there was the knowledge that it wasn't about you. These things, though… Danny froze as one rolled over and looked directly at him. It whispered with insect skittering scratches at the edges of his hearing and roared loudly enough to rage along his bones. It was hate, a very personal maliciousness that wanted to destroy. These things embodied abhorrence, bloodlust, and a desire to harm. The only thing that saved him was a small, glimmering knowledge that this particular hatred, this dark urge to obliterate was not meant for him. And he managed to take this fission of his own fear and mold it into flight, streaking upwards to the surface one final time.

Danny hovered over the surface, catching his breath and his wits, trying to make sense of what he'd found here behind an anonymous door in the Ghost Zone. Calming himself, he created a pane of transparent ice to float on the surface of the waves. He watched the flitting shapes below and thought.

_The ones up here aren't so bad. I wish my friends could see this. So beautiful._

As this idea formed in his head he saw, just below the viewing sheet of ice, a luminescent eddy of bubbles forming. It swirled and twisted with a pulsing glow that intensified until solidifying into a definite shape. Turning upwards, it looked him directly in the eyes and giggled before swimming to join the school of fish that he'd already decided to call the giddy-wistful fish.

And he realized, "Wishes. They're all wishes."

Innocent, bright children's wishes. Wishes of desire, envy, or greed. Loving wishes and wistful, hoping wishes. Wishes of times to come and wishes to return to days long past. The scattered, nonsensical, and broken wishes of the insane. And the ones below… wishes for harm. Dark, twisted desires to hurt the people and things that stood in their way. They were all wishes and they came here to swim in this dark rolling sea.

Danny let his ice dissolve and moved slowly back to the door through which he'd entered. It would be safe now. He could exit, make note of the obscure markings of identification on the door, and go home. But, and here he smiled… He would return with a friend and see just what happened when one of those bright wishes (maybe one of the wistful-loving ones) came true.

* * *

A/N: My inspiration was the song 'If Wishes Were Fishes' was composed and sung by Scottish-born Australian folk singer, Eric Bogle. I was listening to this rather sad music while I thought of what different kinds of wishes would look like if they took shape. The 'dark rolling seas' belong to Mr. Bogle and the melancholy singing fish are dedicated to him and his song.


	11. Failure 57

Challenge topic #57: Failure  
Character(s): Jack Fenton, Danny Fenton  
Genre: Family  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

The light hum of machinery in the lab had always soothed Jack as he worked, an almost subsonic lullaby that allowed him to focus more closely on the task in front of him. It wasn't working very well today for some reason, and it took him a moment to figure out why. Confused, he raised his head from the delicate solder connection he was attempting and looked around. The Ghost Zone Portal was closed and locked. Maddie was out grocery shopping. He wasn't hungry… well, no more so than usual. No ghost alarms. All of the telltale lights on his inventions were a healthy green, so nothing was about to explode… probably. What was it?

He set down his solder gun and started away from the workbench. Like a hound dog sniffing out a particularly juicy scent, he cast back and forth across the lab, listening for the unusual disturbance. Almost completely taken with this new task, it felt like a train derailing when he realized he hadn't turned off the soldering iron. Glancing around sheepishly, even though he knew he was alone, he dashed back to the workbench to turn it off before resuming his search. It was a noise, rhythmic, dull, and uninterrupted. He made quick passes of the other workstations and various inventions to confirm that the noise wasn't coming from the lab, and then proceeded cautiously up the stairs.

Once he reached the top, he paused in the kitchen doorway to see Danny sitting at the table, hands relaxed atop it about shoulder width apart. As he watched, the source of the noise suddenly became clear when Danny banged his head against the tabletop with solemn deliberation. Jack's expression faded from confused to concerned. Mouth open, brow furrowed, and finger hanging in the air, he attempted to make sense of the scene before him.

"Ummm… Son, what are you doing?" Jack tentatively asked, moving closer. Danny answered him without looking up.

"Don't worry, Dad. I'm sure I'm almost done here. Just … _bang_… a few… _bang_… more… _bang_… should… _bang_… do it... _bang_." He waved his hand vaguely off to the side, dismissing the notion that anything was wrong.

Jack's expression melted into one of sympathy. Oh, it was one of those days. He wondered distantly where the fudge was as he proceeded with his plan of action. Lips pursed to fight a wide smile, he scolded his son gently.

"Danny, Danny, Danny. You can't go around banging your head on tables like this!"

He stepped forward to hold Danny by shoulders to prevent him from continuing. Giving the boy a light shake, he paused on point for a moment before diving on into the punch line.

"You're a Fenton, son! You'll have to find something MUCH harder!"

Danny snorted a laugh and sat up on his own, rubbing the red mark on his forehead.

"Tell me what's wrong. Besides the headache you've just given yourself." Jack suggested, as he released Danny and moved over to the cabinets to start his new search. Now that he'd found the problem, it was time to throw together the ingredients to a solution. And the first ingredient to any Jack Fenton Solution (patent pending) was Fudge. Lots and lots of fudge.

Danny sighed and rested his chin in his hand. "Nothing is going right today. My alarm didn't go off, so I was late getting up. I didn't have time for a shower or breakfast. Missed the bus. Jazz was already gone, so I couldn't get a ride. On the way to school I got attacked by a gho… Um. G-Gordon Setter. I got attacked by one of those Gordon Setter hunting dogs. Yeah. _Ran_ to school fighting off a mean _dog_." He looked up quickly to see if his dad had noticed the near slip, but Jack was still rummaging in the cupboards, stacking plates, bowls, and utensils in his arms.

"I did make it to school _just_ on time, so I guess that's okay. But then one of the jocks tripped me on the way down the aisle to my seat. I fell flat on my face and managed to break my calculator in the outer pocket of my backpack."

"That's too bad, Danny-boy. I think I've got a spare you can have, though. It should be in the desk in the den." Jack handed Danny an aspirin and glass of water.

Danny knocked back the pill with a quick gulp and rubbed at his temples. "Thanks, dad. But I needed my calculator this morning, right after I fell. Ms. Siobhan gave us a surprise pop quiz for first period math and I just wasn't able to work out all of the equations in my head before time ran out. Umm… I think I kind of failed it. I'm sorry."

Jack sighed as Danny looked up at him, nervously biting his lip. He loved his boy dearly, and just couldn't resist when Danny broke out the sad puppy-dog eyes. He had to move fast, or those eyes would melt him right down into a puddle. He needed a distraction. Jack quickly slipped a chunk of fudge onto the plate he'd placed in front of Danny. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. These things happen. I never was much good with high school level math myself. Didn't really come into it until college, and even now I've got to run my numbers by your mother, just to be sure. It's not so bad in the long run. If you really need it, we can set up a tutor or something so you can catch up."

Nodding, Danny picked up the fudge and nibbled on it absently. "Thanks again. It might be a good idea, even if I did manage to pass this one. There's always _something…_"

"What, is there more?"

"Yup."

"Well, let it out. It'll only get worse if you stew on it." The fudge was replaced with a very healthy slice of Dutch Apple Pie and a fork.

Danny played with the food in front of him as he morosely continued. "It went on like this all day. I got shoved into my locker between every class. Apparently there's some kind of bet going on in the A-list about how many stuffings it's possible to do in the five-minute passing period. The bullies were trying to top their high score all day. I got called up to the board in both math and chemistry before anyone told me that I'd managed to tear a hole in the seat of my pants when I was fighting the… dog. I left the house in such a rush this morning that I forgot half of my homework assignments on my desk. Another gho… um... Somebody tampered with the weights in gym and I got tangled up in the weight cables until Coach Tetslaff could stop laughing long enough to work me free. Sam got angry with me over _something _at lunch, and I don't even know what that was all about. But she dumped my lunch into my lap before I got to eat any of it and ruined my only pair of replacement jeans. She's still not talking to me. Tucker teased me the rest of the day about it, but won't give me a clue about what's wrong because he doesn't want to get involved in a fight between the 'lovebirds.' Which we aren't, but nobody listens. And then on the way home, that... um... first dog's buddies decided to... chase me around for a while. I'm exhausted." He chewed mechanically as Jack chowed down on the remainder of the pie.

"That is pretty bad. Don't worry about Sam. Just get ready to beg. She'll come around eventually. And you must be pretty hungry if you missed both breakfast and lunch. Here." Jack put a bowl full of double fudge mint ripple ice cream on top of the empty fudge/pie plate. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, but I don't want to talk about it any more. I'm just getting more depressed. I feel like such a failure. And it's only four o'clock. I don't want to even think about what else I can screw up today."

"Aw, that's okay. You don't have to tell me anything else embarrassing. It'll just give me more time to ramble on about how I always deal with this kind of thing."

Danny rolled his eyes as he dug into the ice cream.

"Now shortly after graduating the University of Wisconsin with your mom, I developed my general theory of Ghostly Matter as it pertains to…" Danny allowed his hearing to deaden enough that his father's ramblings became a droning background hum. Random phrases would occasionally break the surface of his consciousness like a Jack Russell bounding up to the window to bark at passersby.

"… If the theory was proven successful, the scientific community would… Sorbonne… once remarked upon the huge number of failures … I really only made about two dollars, 'cause I drank the rest… Thomas Edison and his light bulb… pretty similar to my Fenton Ghost Illuminator Unit. I'll have to show you after dinner… 'is one percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration,' which reminds me of that time…"

Danny cut loose with a huge sigh. Nibbling on the white chocolate chunk with cherries cookie he found in his hand, he stared at the clock and waited it out.

"Such was my reputation for brilliance, however, that the announcement of my plans to … plummeted in New York, London, Madison, and the Great Barrier Reef... but the darned things kept exploding. I don't know why, since they were only made of water and aluminum foil at that point…"

It was after five. With a look of pained desperation, Danny brought his attention to heel enough to figure out just how to back out of this conversation without revealing how badly he'd spaced out on his father. "...At the age of seven, he was forced to work to support his family. At nine, his mother died. At twenty-two, he lost his job as a store clerk. At twenty-three, he went into debt (as partner in a small store), ran for the state legislature, and was promptly defeated. At twenty-six, his partner died leaving him with a large debt. The next year he had a nervous breakdown...

At twenty-nine he was defeated in his bid to become house speaker. Two years later he lost a bid for elector. By thirty-five, he had been defeated twice while running for Congress. At thirty-nine (after a brief term in Congress) he lost his reelection bid.

At forty-one, his four-year-old son died. At forty-two, he was rejected as a prospective land officer. At forty-five, he ran for the Senate and lost. At forty-seven, he lost the vice presidential nomination. At forty-nine, he ran for Senate again - and lost again... Now here he was, persisting where just about anyone else would have thrown himself off a cliff, and what does he manage to do? He gets elected President of the United States. Who am I talking about? That's right, Abraham Lincoln, one of the finest presidents our country has ever had."

Danny pushed away the remains of the triple-decker club sandwich in front of him and readied himself to stand. "Um, that was a great history lesson, dad, but I've really got to go get started on my homework. Before somebody comes and shoots me for my trouble." The last bit was muttered. He didn't want to offend Jack after he'd made such an effort to cheer him up. His escape was foiled, however, by a thunderous belch. Caught completely off guard, he slapped a hand over his mouth and looked at the table between them. It was strewn with dirty dishes, bowls, and glasses, although most of them were on his dad's side of the table. When did he…?

"Sure thing. Just help me tidy up before your mother gets home and tears into us for spoiling our dinners. She's due back any minute now." Danny hastened to his feet and rushed to throw everything into the dishwasher. How the heck did he and his dad manage to eat what looked like every consumable in the house in just over an hour?

"Now what I've been trying to say is that even the best of men fail. The **great** ones, **LIKE ME!, JACK FENTON!** fail all the time. But that doesn't make us failures." He tucked the last fork into the bin, filled the detergent reservoir, and started the washer before giving Danny's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "_Failing _doesn't make you a _failure_, kiddo._ Quitting _does. And I have never seen you quit on anything in your life. I don't expect one bad day, or even a string of 'em to change your lifetime's worth of bulldog determination. Being a Fenton means you're a natural fighter, and you are a fighter through and through. I don't say it enough, but I am proud of you, Danny. I know you'll always keep on trying, no matter how often life knocks you on your butt. And that means that you will **never **be a failure."

Eyes unexpectedly misty, Danny threw himself at Jack with a giant hug. "Thanks, dad. That means more to me than I …" The front door opened to show Maddie hauling in arms full of grocery bags. "… I …think we should go help mom with the food." He stood back, slightly embarrassed with his sudden show of emotion. Jack nodded his understanding and led the way, giving Danny a solid thump on the back to cement his show of support.

Once again fudge had saved the day. Now all he had to do was distract Maddie until dinner was done and he could get her back down into the lab.

* * *

Personal challenge: Just to keep things interesting, work in as many dog references as possible. 1. Hound dog sniffing, 2. it's a stretch, but: pointers and setters pause to point and water retrievers dive in to retrieve, 3. Gordon Setter, 4. In the story "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time," Christopher's teacher's name is Siobhan. She's a social worker at his school. 5. puppy-dog eyes! 6. fighting a dog... that looked suspiciously like a ghost. 7. 'doggie' buddies fighting to avenge the original 'really mean Gordon Setter' 8. Chow, ha! It counts! 9. Beg 10. Jack Russell barking. 11. brought to heel. 12. Bulldog. And all of those facts about Abe Lincoln are quoted right out of a biographical blurb in one of my history books. 100% true, poor guy.


	12. Eclipse 51

Challenge topic #51: Eclipse  
Character(s): Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton  
Genre: Family  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

It wasn't an unusual thing to find her waiting in his bedroom after the household had retired for the night. Goodnights were said, doors were closed, an undetermined amount of time would pass… and he would leave his room to fight another ghost, while she would slip silently from her room into his to await his return. Most nights she brought her laptop in with her to pass the time doing homework or typing up theses as she sat and waited in the light of the desk lamp he never turned off anymore. Sometimes she would bring up her e-mail and cautiously word questions to authorities in the field of psychology. No one needed to know that her 'what-ifs' were based on the impossible reality that was her brother. And no one needed to know how much she worried.

That was the unusual thing tonight. The intense worry that trebled well above her usual state of nerves. Because she'd already noticed how much he'd been sketching. How he'd managed over the last month or so to cover just about every square inch of his room with surprisingly detailed drawings of his city. Standard size note paper and small sticky-notes. Pages from the artist's sketchbook she'd given him. Bold sheets from presentation easel pads and bits and pieces from large rolls of industrial printer paper. He'd managed to circle the room in a panoramic view of Amity, as if the walls weren't even there and the viewer was seeing each of the landmarks from what looked like a point just above the top of the Ops Center. It wouldn't surprise her. Above the panorama surrounding her were detailed drawings of different locations around town. A warehouse rested above his desk, while nearby was a picture of dock sixteen on the waterfront. Various indistinguishable alleyways brooded among the rest. Over by his closet sat dozens of views of Casper High in all her glory. The mall and its various shops crouched sullenly near the door. Hand-drawn snapshots of what seemed to be random locations all over town, taped to the walls above their locations on the panorama view.

When he'd first started putting up the drawings she hadn't been worried at all. She'd been relieved. It seemed to her that he had found a safe outlet for the stresses that the latest upswing in ghost attacks had brought him. She had been relieved for his mental health, at least, because the attacks came in greater numbers every day. His physical health was the reason she waited for his return, first-aid kit at the ready. But then the drawings started to eclipse everything else he'd cherished enough to give a place of honor on his walls. The NASA posters and his treasured schematic of the Explorer Hartman were hidden from view. Posters of his favorite bands and pictures of his loved ones sank beneath the mass. Just last week she'd come into his room and happened to look up. His model rockets had been unstrung from their years-long flight around his ceiling and placed in a box under his desk. The glow-in-the-dark stars that he'd so carefully arranged into the shapes of his favorite constellations were now completely obscured by a map-like overview of the city, centered on Fenton Works. Lying on his bed made it seem like gravity had reversed itself as she looked up at a view of looking down. Her vertigo was more than physical.

The unusual worry came to a crescendo tonight and it was entirely due to these drawings and the bulb of a desk lamp that had finally stopped giving light. Without the lamplight or the warm glow of her computer screen she should have been sitting in the dark. But she wasn't.

The room glowed around her. Eldritch green light swirled through Danny's drawings in a fine web of ectoplasmic radiance. Here and there the spiraling streams of luminosity would intersect and eddy into a glowing whirlpool. She understood now why he'd chosen to draw these particular detailed locations. Each detail work originated from an intersection on either the panorama or the overhead map. They mocked her in an eerie imitation of the little children's star stickers she should have been seeing. Each point of light that twisted on a drafted building or scribbled street corner stabbed another icy sick churning of fear in her stomach. They glimmered and roiled, spinning like miniature versions of the Ghost Portal in the basement. This wasn't right. This seemed to whisper to her of _obsession_ from some point just outside of hearing. Instead of an innocent, if excessive, pastime she now worried that her baby brother had been consumed by his ghost.

It was time to intervene. Hopefully it wasn't past time.

So she sat shivering and sick until he passed once more through the walls of his room. He leaned against the windowsill for a moment, eyes closed, while he caught his breath. She allowed him a moment to rest in his weariness before she spoke.

"Danny."

"Hey, Jazz." The chills that plagued her before his entrance thawed a bit with his tired smile. "Not much to patch up tonight. There were just a _lot_ of annoying little ghosts."

"Danny, what is all this?" The glow of his familiar ghost form seemed much more comforting than the supernatural drawings on the walls.

"What's what?" He opened his eyes to see what she was talking about, and then straightened up slowly in surprise. "Oh… huh, I didn't know they actually glowed when I wasn't putting energy into them. I probably built up a residual charge or something."

Danny moved over to a cluster of drawings of the town park and nudged the dancing lights with a glowing finger. He traced along the surface until the energies had rearranged themselves to his liking before moving to the bed so she could start tending his wounds.

"You know how I said I was getting more sensitive to spectral energies?" He asked as he allowed her to swab a long, shallow cut on his back.

"Yes."

"Well, I started to notice that the energies I was feeling were flowing. Kind of like streams, or air currents, or something. So I decided to try and plot them, you know, to see if there was a pattern. The more I focused on them, the easier they were to feel. And I came up with this mess to try and keep track of it all." He nodded towards the drawings.

"Do you know what this means, Danny?"

"Umm. I know that the energy in town kind of has a mind of its own. I have to update every night. The pictures up along the top of the walls are where spectral energy streams pool together. The pools seem more or less stable, and Sam, Tucker, and I have managed to confirm that those pools are where ghosts are most likely to either attack or slip through from the Ghost Zone. That warehouse over there is the Box Ghost's favorite."

"No, that's not what I mean. I… I don't know… you've got so much here."

"What you're seeing here isn't a real time view of the town, if that's what you're worried about. All the glowy stuff you see here is me just kind of putting an overlay of ectoplasmic paint on top of the drawings I made with paper and pencil. Or ink. I'm actually kind of proud of the one I did over there." He pointed across the room, but she didn't look as she tried to organize her scattered thoughts into something he'd understand. "I know it looks like everything is kind of moving, but it doesn't actually change until I make it change. And it's all my energy so it's not gonna go all Thanksgiving turkey monster on us. I think. Umm… just in case, you should know that I've got an extra Fenton Foamer under the bed here."

He paused and turned to look at her when she didn't respond. "Jazz?"

"That's not what's bothering me. It's just… it's your whole room. It's everywhere. These drawings, maps, whatever, they've taken over everything you had in here. It's like it's not even your room anymore. There's no space stuff, no photographs, you even pasted over your dresser mirror. I'm worried that you don't have anything else to… I'm worried about _you. _I'm worried that the ghost fighting is all you've got anymore and you're losing… well, that you're losing yourself."

He stared at her in shock for a moment before laughing gently at her.

"You are so weird, Jazz. If you keep this up you'll be gray before you're twenty." He pushed away her hands and walked over to a particularly large sheet covering the wall over his dresser. Splaying his hand against it, he turned the whole thing invisible. Underneath it she finally saw the things that she associated with the little brother she'd watched over almost her whole life. She was able to see a photograph she didn't even know she'd been missing, a picture taken years ago of the two of them smiling and hugging on the back steps of the house.

"It's all still here, Jazz. Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there. I thought you of all people would get that. Especially after I tried to invisibly sneak into your room to steal your diary that time. I've gotta say, your aim with a pillow is _way_ better than your aim with the thermos." He laughed at her again.

"Knock it off, Danny. I was really worried."

"I can tell. I know I got kind of carried away, but…"

"Kind of?"

"… But when I tried to do this with photos and stuff, the ectoplasm wouldn't stick. There's something in the ink or photo chemicals or something. Tucker wants to put it into a 3-D simulation for his PDA and our computers, but I didn't feel safe having it somewhere Technus or Vlad could hack into it and mess around. So I had to sketch it all out… And once I started, I figured that an all-over view would help me see the big picture. No pun intended."

"Of course not. You never crack lame jokes or puns."

"You're just being mean to cover up that you're such a spaz."

" I'm _not_ a spaz, Danny!"

"Shh. You'll wake up mom and dad. Now instead of worrying about me, you can take that big brain of yours and figure out a way to shrink this down into a manageable, but still tamper-proof size. But wait till tomorrow. I'm tired tonight and you… you obviously need sleep even more than I do since you're freaking out over nothing."

"It's not nothing, Danny. You've got this stuff _everywhere_. And it looks kind of spooky when the lights are out."

"Umm. Okay, you're right, it is kinda over the top. But I've told you my reasons. Now I'm all bandaged up, perfectly sane, and really tired. Go to your room and go to bed so I can get some sleep."

"Fine, but we're talking about this some more tomorrow, little brother."

"I didn't really expect anything different, Ms. Worrywart." He hugged her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Danny. Oh, and don't forget to get a new light bulb for your lamp. If mom and dad walk in and see this they'll flip out even worse than I did. They'll probably think your room is possessed or something and try to decontaminate it."

He nodded and pushed her gently towards his room as he headed for the stairs. "Good point. See you in the morning."

-End

* * *

A/N: Eclipse: Just because you can't see something beyond what's immediately in front of you, doesn't mean that it's not there. It can come back into view with a simple change of perspective. A/A/N: Jazz must not have liked how I wrote her for topic #2, because she really wasn't speaking to me for this one. Her "speech" was a little OOC. Oh well.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	13. Worthless 41

Challenge topic #41: Worthless  
Character(s): Danny P/F  
Genre: Angst?  
Rating: T, for some self-abuse and language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: Actions, _thoughts_, "speech." Ignore the sentence fragments. This is mostly stream-of-consciousness.

* * *

He had no idea how long he'd been fighting. He didn't _want_ to know how long he'd been fighting tonight, or how many ghosts he'd pummeled, or how much property damage he'd managed to rack up today alone. He just knew that however long it had been was much too long. During a brief lull in the action earlier, he'd managed to send Sam and Tucker home with false assurances that it was all over. That had been around sundown. He told them he was homeward bound for a shower, some food, and a good night's sleep. He'd lied. And that just made the world around him seem darker than the departed sun had left it.

All he had now was the conflict in front of him. Unending. Exhausting.

Fighting ghosts and fighting fatigue. He hated the lying, the compromises. He hated placing his burdens on the shoulders of his friends and his sister. They didn't deserve this. They were all just kids. He had to question what the hell he was even doing anymore. He knew why he'd started all this. It had seemed to be the right thing to do. He knew somewhere deep down inside that it still was the right thing to do. But that didn't make this easier. The fact that they accepted his mad crusade, that they supported him without question and with very little complaint just made it worse. It just made him feel worse. Worthless.

An unearthly glow illuminated the darkness at the far left side of his vision and he ducked as yet another foe shimmered into sight. Sneak attack. He didn't want this! This obsession! This drive to put everything and everyone else before himself and his loved ones. But he couldn't stop. And the world around him dimmed some more as his focus narrowed on his adversary and his self-castigating thoughts.

The newest ghost was there, mocking him, as the acid sour voice mocked him in his head. Taunting him just out of reach. Unobtainable. He wanted to be normal. _I'm a freak._ He wanted to be late in the morning because he'd forgotten to set his alarm, not because some ghost wanted to prove something. _Too slow._ He wanted his unfinished homework to be because he was just too lazy, not because he'd been up all night fighting._ Too stupid._ He didn't want to have to hide the injuries, wearing dark clothes to camouflage the blood. _Too WEAK._ He wanted to have common, boring, everyday worries. Instead he had to wonder whether he'd be even half alive come morning, and if everyone he loved would survive the night to greet him. _Too foolish, too deluded, too useless._ He just wanted, for one brief moment, to have a breath of sanity. To remember what it felt like so that he could have something to carry with him. But the voice was screaming in his head now. _PATHETIC! _So he punched the leering specter hard, disrupting the surface skin of ectoplasm enough that his foe lost its form for a moment.

He'd long since dropped the witty banter tonight. Ectoblasts, intangibility, and shields were all abandoned. Something dark roiled inside of him, near the seething coil of liquid nitrogen that was his ghostly core. Something that ached painfully, deep in his hollowed out chest– and it rose to the surface in feral growls. All of it, the heartache, the failure, the fights… he was just so damned angry. So tired. He let it all out and forced it onto his enemies with flight, bare fists, and wordless screaming.

With every punch, he screamed as loud and hard as he could without letting out the Ghostly Wail. His throat was raw now, though it should have been numbed by the endless fog of his freezing ghost sense.

Something wet ran down his cheeks. He could only be grateful that he was still human enough to sweat from his exertions, even in ghost form. His enemies would never see the tears he couldn't seem to stop. They just kept coming along with the ghost sense, the next scream, the next fight, the next foe.

He kept punching, crying, coughing against the sting in his throat. He didn't bother with dodging or blasting. He just hit. Maybe he couldn't solve his problems, but he could do this. He could take the hollow ache in his chest and impose it on his opponents. Make them hurt like he was hurting. He could hide his fear and frustration under driving rage. His clenched fists were leaking a mixture of blood and ectoplasm from split knuckles, his gloves long since shredded and gone. Another reminder that he was a freak. With every blow he pummeled his fists even harder, yelling even louder.

_Bang_

He could feel the latest ghost's form waver beneath him.

_Crack_

He could feel the bones in his hands, shattered under the impact of all the punches he'd landed.

_Bam_

The world around him faded into a blur of motion, action and reaction, as he continued to thrash the specters that faced him. Inside and out.

Eventually it ended, slowing down to a stop with the unwinding swirl of the Fenton thermos. Finally, _finally_ they'd gotten the idea that tonight was not the night to test Phantom.

"Stop this," he told himself in a hoarse voice, "It's done. Breathe."

What was he doing? This wasn't him, depressed and acting out like some wannabe emo kid. _Yeah, I messed myself up really bad._ "Idiot."

He hung limp in midair, head drooping to his heaving chest, arms loose at his sides. As his breath settled, he allowed himself to drift to the ground below. He opened his heavy eyes just wide enough to find himself alone in the park somewhere. He hunched there in a wide clearing, curled over his knees with throbbing, swollen hands cradled gently before him.

Now that everything that he'd let build up inside him was out of his system and the adrenaline began to ebb, the horrible pain of his battered body began to soak into his awareness. He groaned as the agonizing sensations twisted his gut, making him sick. If his hands weren't in such bad shape, he'd smack himself. If his head didn't hurt so much, he'd bang it into something hard.

"Oh, ow," He winced, "Oh, man, that was a very, very bad idea. Gah, I feel like a bag full of splinters." He swallowed harshly against his raw throat. "Burnt splinters. Maybe Jazz is onto something when she says I need to talk this all out."

But he felt better somehow. Despite his throbbing headache, countless bruises, badly broken hands, and the unknown number of fractured ribs he was now sporting, he felt… lighter.

He could still feel the bony bits and pieces grinding together as he shifted back on his heels. Shivering convulsively, he pulled forth the icy core of his ice powers to stem some of the bruising and hopefully numb the pain enough so that he could focus on healing properly.

Since it would be at least a couple more hours before he could go home to get some sleep without waking up because of a bone realigning itself to heal, he simply maneuvered himself slowly onto his back in the grass. At least fighting without using many of his powers had left him with enough energy to heal himself of the damage he had suffered because he hadn't been using many of his powers.

_Dumbest thing I've done in a while. At least go intangible next time._

He focused himself on the flow of his ghost energy, relaxing as much as he could through the pain. Breathe in. Let the cooling power flow. Mesh bone. Weave flesh. Knit skin. Distill blood. Breathe out. Repeat.

He had just settled into a sustainable rhythm, when his cell phone rang.

_Crap._

He shifted back to human, then wiggled enough to slide the phone out of his pocket without using his mangled hands. He managed to answer just before it went to voicemail.

_Thank goodness for speakerphone._

"Hi, mom."

"No, I'm in the park. They had some stuff to do, so I started to walk home…"

"No, I didn't realize it was so late. I wasn't watching the time." _Argh, quick, I need a believable excuse!_

"I know, but…" He glanced around, feeling slightly desperate as he sought a way to stay out of sight long enough to be passably healed. Looking up from where he lay, he saw a shooting star pass overhead. Almost without thinking, he realized, "Draconids."

"What? No. It's the ninth. The Draconid meteor shower peaks tonight. I completely forgot about it until I looked up." _And that's not even a lie. I've had so much on my mind lately._

He watched more meteors shoot across the sky patch above the clearing as he listened to his mother's voice. He'd never admit it out loud… _Heck, I won't even mention it in my head unless I do it very, very quietly…_ but hearing his mom's concern right now was almost as good as getting a hug.

_How sad is that? Well into my teens and I still need mommy to make it all better._

But he didn't feel sad. He felt safe. Warm.

"I know. Yeah, I know. I've got a jacket. Would it be okay if I stayed out here a while longer, please? Just another couple hours."

"Yeah. But there aren't any lights out here. Makes it easier to see…" _And I still need time to heal, and maybe run by the school gym to shower off the blood and get a change of clothes._

"Mom, we're in Amity. No one's gonna mug me or anything. Once I stop talking no one will even know I'm here. I guarantee it."_ No lie there either. No one can find me if I don't want to be found._

"Draco, the constellation that snakes between the Big and Little Dippers."

"Uh-huh, I know. Very punny. Ha ha."

"I dunno, it's not as good as last year. Maybe three or four a minute. It'll be another several years before we get a really good show. That should be something like a thousand every hour."

"No, I'm not exaggerating… There's another one in a couple weeks. Not as many, but they tend to be more colorful and have long trails. Maybe we could watch together…"

"Really? Thanks, mom. I won't stay out too much longer. I promise. Then we can go watch the Orionids out at the lake or something on the twentieth."

"What? No. If you're already asleep, I'm not gonna wake you up again just to…"

"Okay, fine. Yes. Goodnight kiss, too. But if anyone asks I'm gonna deny everything. I've got a rep to keep up here."

"I love you too, mom. Goodnight."

He rested there in the grass, letting his tension melt away into the night. _Forty-five. Forty-six. Ow._

"The damage could be worse, I guess. Close quarters fighting didn't give many of them a chance to score any energy attacks on me. No burns left to heal."

He counted as the stars shot by. _How long has it been since I just stargazed?_ _I forgot how relaxing this is. Sixty-one._

As his thoughts settled, he reflected back on today's fighting. _I was acting really out of character. Some of those ghosts looked pretty scared. _

"Ssssk. Ouch. When did I bust up my knee?"

He pondered for a while.

"Good. Maybe if they're scared enough, they won't be back for a while. I can relax. Get some homework done… Catch up on my sleep. I can maybe NOT have a mental breakdown. That would be nice."

_Ninety-seven._

He'd established pretty much from the beginning that while things might not be his fault, they were his responsibility. Pariah's siege had just solidified that for him. Worthless was too easy. Worthless meant he wasn't to blame for things going south, but it also meant he wasn't capable of fixing the problem.

_Bull. I kicked butt tonight, just like I always do. Ow. I'm hurting, but they're hurting worse. Every last one of them._

_One hundred and twenty-nine._

Easy was not an option anymore. If it ever really was. Maybe not, but the consequences were bigger now. So if worthless was easy, the safe option, it was also wrong.

_Maybe I should use that journal Jazz gave me. Make a list, positives and negatives… After I read my assigned chapters of 'Romeo and Juliet.'_

_One hundred and sixty._

He emptied his mind. Mesh, weave, knit, distill, breathe.

_Two hundred and fifteen._

It really was a nice night out tonight. A little cold, but that didn't bother him much anymore.

_Three hundred and fifty-eight._

He flexed his fingers a bit. The swelling was down and nothing seemed to be jabbing him from the inside anymore. It had been about an hour and forty-five minutes. He sat up, testing his muscles. Time to go get cleaned up and go home.

He didn't feel good, exactly, but he felt better. Body and mind.

He could figure the rest out tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: Hmm, this was supposed to be a _short_ angst piece. But somewhere in the middle I seemed to have been jumped by Fluff bandits, who dragged it out to more than 2200 words. If a spoon and fork become a spork, does that make this anuff? Oh well. Hope you enjoyed reading.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	14. Hunger 100

Challenge topic #100: Hunger  
Character(s): cameo by Danny Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

It had been so very long since it had come to this place. This location was barren, too hot, too bright. By the time this had come to its limited awareness, it was too late to return home. So it pulled in upon itself and built a shelter. Hard-spun walls encased it. All it could do was wait. It endured.

There may have been movement outside. It might have blown, or flowed, or been carried on the whim of outside forces, but there was no real way of knowing. It had no way of knowing what occurred outside itself, nor the awareness to understand it. All it knew was hunger and the need to wait. It lay dormant within its shell, waiting for more favorable conditions to break through its carefully assembled protection.

Eventually, it was able to emerge. The environment was still too bright and harsh, but there was food. It found itself placed in a veritable feast, and it stretched out on all sides, pulling the food in wherever it could reach. When no more was available, it moved onwards.

Each step rolled or pulled, folded or tensed to propel it towards its goal: food. Carefully avoiding direct light, it moved along from food source to food source. It oozed and contracted, grabbed and released, enfolding its sustenance as it went. When the brightness of day blasted its fragile skin, it would retreat into deep shadows to wait, and rest until night fell again and it could resume the hunt. Hunger drove it, always.

Sometimes in its hunt it would encounter obstacles, but it did not know frustration. All it knew was pursue or avoid. When the air was too cold or two hot, it would seek shelter. When the light was too intense, or if it was absent, it would seek gentle shade. It sought the path of least resistance, never moving upwards unless downwards was blocked. The ground was safe and allowed for the hunt, but it would avoid contact with biting currents and crushing bodies, or with others of its kind who might view _it_ as food. There were more of the others all the time as more food became available. Predator follows prey. It might, if conditions were favorable, meet and join with one other of comparable size and strength. Together they would become something new, larger, stronger, more aware and more mobile… and exponentially hungrier.

In time it was strong enough, recovered enough from its long imprisonment to reproduce. Strange as they might be, these surroundings were now swimming with food. It sent forth its daughters, knowing that they would thrive. Through them it was immortal. Even if food became scarce once more, they could carry on its legacy. One, out of them all, would be enough.

It followed its food, morsel to bite, as the trail became richer, denser. All along the way it sent out its daughters, to feed in their turn and compete with the awakening others. Finally it came to the Source. Even with its limited awareness, and even scarcer understanding it knew. This supply would be enough to ensure that there would never be another period of drought. The abundance before it would feed it and its offspring through generations upon generation.

And then the Source turned and noticed _it_. Move away! Rich as the source was with sustenance, it could not partake, for the source was a hunter as well. It sought to retreat, to escape the sight of the greater hunter, but the source was too quick, and he burned with energy so bright and bubbled with a cold so intense that it instinctively tried to wall itself away once more. Even this last ditch attempt at survival was unsuccessful. It was enveloped in a searing blue-white light before being thrown into blackness.

After an untold time, it emerged once more. If it had possessed enough self-awareness, it might have been confused by its new surroundings. Instead, all it comprehended was a sense of _home_. And it moved forth to feed.

Danny stepped away from the thermos deposit slot on the Portal, shaking his head.

"Where the heck are all these annoying little blobbies coming from? It's like being followed around by a parade of boogers."

He made a face and started up the steps to the kitchen.

"At least they aren't powerful enough to be seen by anybody else. That would be _sooo_ hard to explain."

He opened the fridge and rummaged around inside for a snack, even though it wasn't long until dinner. Mom would understand. After all, teenage boys are always hungry.

* * *

A/N: Did you know that the goop inside of an amoeba is made up of endoplasm and _ectoplasm? _Just sayin'. It's really hard to write a narrative about a one-celled organism, but I got the idea and couldn't let it go. I was reading somewhere about how people shed so many skin cells we've got our own little ecosystems going (Eeew) and I thought, what about a high powered half-ghost shedding ectoplasm? My own little take on the Circle of After-Life. Oh, and amoebas never merge to form something bigger, but I can totally see this happening three or four times with an amoeba-style-ghost to form one of those ectopuss things. Grrr.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	15. Fruit Loop 47

Challenge topic #47: Fruit Loop  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: T, some language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Mad-Libs, or the book mentioned herein. I'll be quoting from it heavily. Beware of goofiness ahead.

* * *

Nothing offends a Goth like having their dark sanctum invaded by raucous cheer. So when the solemn and tormented gloom of the Skulk and Lurk suffered just such a disturbance, Sam slammed down the book she'd been perusing and moved with deadly intent to silence it. She followed the rowdy laughter to an aisle towards the back of the store, cursing the two culprits violently under her breath.

"What the hell, guys? Shut up! Are you trying to get me banned? Again!"

Their heads snapped up in surprise, but the laughter didn't stop. Danny was laughing so hard, he was hyperventilating and the whites were visible all around his eyes. Tucker had laughed himself into hiccups, and he was crying so hard in his mirth that his glasses had fogged up. She waited somewhat less than patiently for them to control themselves and offer an explanation. All she got was gasping breaths. Giving up, she grabbed them in an iron grip and dragged them to the front.

"Wh… W-Wh… Wait… got… buh… bu-buy this." Danny panted, pulling a bit towards the register over by the café side of the shop.

Sam turned around to see what he was talking about. All she could glimpse was the edge of a smallish yellow book poking above the edge of the arms he had clasped tightly around his chest. Avoiding her grab, he ran over to the checkout. He ignored the scowling visage of the Goth clerk behind the counter and pulled out his wallet to pay. Frowning harshly the dark teen pointed at the assorted signs behind him.

Warning: You Are Being Video Taped.  
No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service.  
No Weapons, Drugs, Skateboards or Roller Blades Allowed.  
Smoking of _Any_ Substance Prohibited.  
No Balloons of Any Kind Allowed In This Building.  
No Laughing, No Service, No Joke.

"I'm so sorry," Sam pled, aiming a particularly vicious kick at Tucker's shins. "Just let him pay and we're gone. It's really the fastest way to get rid of them." Tucker, his tears of merriment now interspersed with tears of pain, dropped to the floor and crawled haphazardly to the door. Danny, on the other hand, stood with book and money on the counter, biting his lips to hold the laughter in. The end result of this was almost enough to make the grim teen behind the counter break the store's rule about laughing himself. Danny's eyes and nose were watering madly and his face was turning bright red from holding back the hilarity he was feeling.

Taking a deep breath that gurgled somewhere between snort and gasp, Danny stated, "This book and three bottled waters, please."

Rolling his eyes, the clerk obliged. Sam grabbed the bag and Danny's ear and stomped to the door in time to open it, shove Danny through, and help Tucker through with a firm booted push to the rear. "Now what was that all about?"

The boys grinned at each other, grabbed Sam by the hands and ran to the nearby park to be away from prying eyes. Once they found some privacy Danny opened the bag to proudly display his purchase. "I saw this and had to check it out. And then we started reading… this thing just screams Fruit-Loop! "

Tucker broke in, "We don't ever have to be caught off guard by one of Plasmius' schemes again. He has _got_ to be using this as an instruction book! Check it!"

Sam leaned closer to read the title. " 'How to be a Villain: Evil Laughs, Secret Lairs, Master Plans and More!' by Neil Zawacki? You can't be serious."

"No. Listen, it's like he's been following this, step by step. It starts out with a dictionary definition of evil and then has a magazine type quiz to see if you are really evil! The very first tip is that if you're lacking evil confidence to stand in front of a darkened mirror, 'stare at your _ghostly_ visage and say with confidence, "I'm bad. I'm really, really bad."' Check out the table of contents." Danny held the book out for her inspection.

She arched an elegant eyebrow at him before cracking the book. "Chapter one: Getting Started with the Forces of Darkness. Chapter Two: Discovering the Methods of Your Mayhem. Chapter Three: Thwarting the Forces of Good. Chapter Four: Tools of the Evil Trade. Chapter Five: Making an Evil Plan. Sounds about right for your classic villain-type, but where does our Beloved Mayoral Fruit Loop, His Vladdie-ness figure in?"

Tucker grabbed the book and opened it to the first chapter. "Allow me. Under 'Getting started' are a couple of suggestions… Danny?"

"Proceed, my good techno-geek!"

"Step one! Release a demonic hoard on a peaceful township."

"Check! We just replace demonic with ghostly."

Tucker flipped a couple more pages. "There's the quiz, choosing an evil name… Here's another one! Motives! Power?"

"Check!"

"Greed?"

"Check."

"Hate?"

"Check."

"Insanity?"

"Double Check!"

"Revenge?"

"Check with extra sprinkles!"

"And the final motive: Evil nature, complete with _glowing red eyes!_"

"Checkmate!" At this point they dissolved into laughter again, Sam joining them.

"Okay guys, what else have you got?" Danny grabbed the book back from Tucker to continue.

"I've got chapter two with the methods of his mayhem. Oooh… careers. Huh, I think you're only supposed to choose one, but he's got all except one. Yup, here's criminal mastermind. That's where he started, and I'm pretty sure he still keeps his hands nice and dirty. Hmmm, Necromancer."

"I haven't seen any zombie mobs, but the ghost thing should count again." Sam added.

"Next is 'corporate bastard', big old yes, followed by 'Mad Scientist', which explains the many secret labs, 'Black Knight'…"

"He isn't one himself, but he's got one on the payroll. Got a pumpkin handy, Tucker?"

"Aww, shut up, Sam. I lost a lot of really good candy to the Fright Knight that Halloween."

"Next up is 'horror movie villain'. He does look like something out of a Hammer film when he's in his ghost form. Ooh, but there's also 'supernatural avatar'."

Sam frowned, "Because he can turn himself into a ghost without actually being dead? You can do that, too."

"No, because he freed a supernatural horror from its thousand year prison. I can just see him with a copy of this book and some ghostly encyclopedia… 'Sugar cookies, where am I going to find a 1000 year old supernatural horror to unleash on my little badger? Here we go! Pariah Dark. May be found in Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. Second left after Skull Island.' He's got a checklist somewhere, I just know it!" Danny flailed his hands around dramatically, nearly throwing the book.

Sam snorted her amusement at his exaggeration. "Let me see. What's next? 'Objectives and Goals'. 'World domination' through… yes here's the 'economic' angle of his multi-national corporation, 'military' might cover his ghostly goons. How many does he have?"

"I don't care until I have to kick them back into the Ghost Zone. What's next?"

"Tsk. That's going to come back and bite you… 'Shadow government'. Well, he is already the mayor; it's a good start. 'Ideological' could be him continuing his harassment of you as 'Public Ghost Enemy Number One.' 'Mass media', he holds press conferences all the time, both as corporate multi-billionaire and mayor, so that's covered.

"If he's not into the world domination thing there's always 'global destruction.' Possible ways to blow us all to kingdom come include…" she flipped a couple of pages. "'Biblical apocalypse'. But that even says right here that it would probably take too long, so his next best bet is 'Asteroids From Space.'"

They looked at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter again and collapsing to the grass.

Danny laughed breathlessly from where he rested in the grass. "No, not even Vlad is that crazy. A giant asteroid of doom is just way too outta left field. Never gonna happen."

Sam shivered a bit from an unexpected chill up her spine, but dismissed it to continue reading. "Moving on in the theme of Mayhem's various objectives is 'widespread misery'. It looks like both the 'politics' and 'police state' categories fit what he did to Casper High during your prank war, Danny. My skin is still crawling from the feel of those uniforms."

"What? I fixed everything. You're right back to your Gothic greatness."

She ducked her head back into the pages of the book to hide her blush, but not before Tucker managed to catch a shot on his trusty PDA.

"Um. We've also got 'criminal activities'. We already covered that one. Hard to prove without blowing both your secrets, but he's gotta still be doing it. Why quit what you're good at? The only other thing I see here is 'soul accumulation', and that could be covered by the ghost thing again. Then it's Chapter three."

Tucker sat up excitedly. "My turn! Gimme that book. I have _got_ to see where Danny fits into this." Sam and Danny both rolled their eyes, but allowed Tucker to take control.

"Hah hah, snerk, hih. Ahem. Here the book explains how to thwart the 'forces of good' and defines the terms that describe them. So, Danny, do you have a 'Con-shintz'?"

"Why, yes, I do!"

Sam interrupted, "Wait, what?"

"It spells the words out phonetically because Vlad type baddies can't possibly be familiar with these ideas. Check it out. The 'rare menace of a hero' will have all of these traits. Ready, my man?"

"Fire away!"

"'Con-shintz'?"

"I can't spell it, but I've got it."

"'Cum-pa-shun'?"

"Yup."

"I'd argue that last one, but you seem to have learned your lesson about it since last Christmas, even though the rhyming thing is still weird."

"Sam! I told you, there was a ghost."

"Uh huh, you sound like your dad when you say that."

"Ugh. Tucker, keep reading." Danny pled.

"'Pit-ee', 'ahn-es-tee', 'coor-adj', and 'an-ner'?"

"Six for six. I'm a bonafide Super hero!"

"Don't make me deflate your ego again, Danny."

Suitably threatened, Danny grabbed the book from Tucker and thrust it back at Sam. Time for a heroic distraction! "Here, your turn."

He pulled out the waters and passed them out as she continued.

"Um hmm… maybe. Definitely not. Hah! No. Nope. No again. No, but that would be funny. You'd have too be older for this one…"

"Saaaaam! You have to share with the group. Danny and I haven't read this far yet." Tucker whined.

"Just reviewing the hero types to see where Danny fits in. Once I find the best type, we can see how Vlad is advised to thwart your thwarting."

"So. How do I rate?"

"Well, you might fit 'Defender of Justice.'"

"Well, I do fight crime sometimes when the ghost stuff is slow. But there's not a lot of that in Amity to begin with."

"Yeah, well, I'm looking here and you might not want to be in this category (aside from the cape wearing, which we've already demonstrated is a _bad_ thing) because the advice is to capture and dispose of you as soon as possible."

"Eew. Okay, so what else have we got?"

"I was thinking you aren't angry _or_ cool enough to be the 'Angry Cool Guy.'"

"Hey!"

"You aren't female enough to be a vixen. You never stop with the 'witty banter' and you have us so you can't be a 'Silent Loner'."

"Witty banter is a valid way to throw my bad guys off their game to give me an advantage in the fight… and I'm really funny!"

"Uh huh, Danny. You just keep telling yourself that."

"Give him a break, Sam. He could be as bad as Jazz."

"Point. Umm. Next is 'Sidekick' which doesn't apply since you do all the heavy lifting. Then there's 'Woman Warrior'. Again, you're one X chromosome short for that one, too. Back to the one I thought would be funny: 'Swashbuckler!'"

"No."

"C'mon, Danny. You could wear a poofy shirt." Sam teased in a sing-song voice.

"Absolutely not. What's next?"

"Spoilsport."

"Maybe you can get him into a swashbuckler costume for Halloween, Sam. And then you can try to get him out of it!" Tucker suddenly found himself wearing most of the contents of two bottles of water.

"You're too young to be a 'Wise Mentor' and you didn't train Vlad, so that's out. Hmmm. It looks like the best option here is 'Unlikely Hero.'"

"Which is…?"

"It is, and I quote, the 'wow-you'd-never-expect-them-to-be-a-hero hero'. Who tends to travel in packs, '_especially if age fourteen and social misfits'."_

"We're not misfits!" Tucker protested.

"Um, yeah… we kind of are. But is three enough to count as a pack?" Danny asked.

"Who cares? This seems a lot more promising in the thwart department too. The only advice here is not to underestimate you and to break with the clichés like gloating about the evil scheme of the day and being a stereotypical villain."

"Yeah. Vlad would be so much easier to fight if he shouted out all of his plans, like Technus. Are there any other options that aren't so geeky though?"

"Only thing left is 'Lovable Animal Companion.'"

Danny blew a raspberry and took the book back.

"Next is… death traps. Vlad hasn't wanted to kill me yet… much, so we can look that over later. Next is Lairs. Wow, there's like twelve of them. Aaaaand… yup, Vladdie's gone for more than one again. He's got 'Medieval castle'and several 'corporate towers' all around the world. I wouldn't doubt he's got more than one 'Underground secret headquarters of doom.' He's probably got a timeshare in 'Hell'."

"Be nice, Danny."

"Why?"

"Because you're the 'unlikely hero' and you've got an image to maintain." Sam smirked at him.

"Whatever," he huffed. "We can skip some of these, but his DALV company has a 'space station' satellite thing. I saw it on SpaceTV. And I've been in his 'Haunted Woods' when he tricked mom into dragging me to Colorado. The place was swarming with mutant ghost animals he'd made. He's also probably got a tropical island or ten, because he's so rich. Does that count in the 'Desert Island' category?"

"Who cares? It's a tropical island. Bring on the fruity drinks!"

"Just for that… you're up, Tuck."

"Okay. Ummm. Oooh, henchmen! 'Classic thugs', nope. 'Mutant race', only if the mutant animal ghosts count."

"I'm counting them," Danny grimaced.

"Okay then, check for that one. 'Robot warriors' would be cool, but no. 'Ninjas', no, he ticked them all off with that 'Make me your leader' thing."

"Tucker, those were monks. You're so culturally insensitive."

"Sam, if you keep interrupting him, we'll be here all night."

"Right, right. Keep going."

"'Alien life forms'?"

"Only if there's not a supernatural category."

"Umm, that comes up later. So next is 'demented clowns'."

They all shuddered. "Thank goodness no. That was Freakshow."

"'Computer programmers'?"

"That's you."

"I'm not a henchman!"

"But you program up a storm. Keep reading!"

"Fine… 'Winged monkeys,' nope. 'Animal minions' could be the mutant animal ghost things again. 'Mean English teachers'?"

They all looked at each other in mild alarm.

Danny frowned and shook his head, "No. Lancer's not completely evil… most of the time. He's just one of those 'I'm tougher on you because you're not living up to your potential' types. It's a pain in the butt, but he's only trying to help in his totally unhelpful way."

"Yeah, too many years as V.P. in charge of discipline. It's messed with his head."

"And his hairline!" Tucker quipped. "That leaves 'the undead' which brings in Plasmius' ghost minions. He's a business multi-billionaire, so you just know he's got hoards of 'Corporate cronies.' Oh, here's 'Supernatural creatures' again. Is that a better fit for ghosts than the undead?"

"He's got enough to count for both, I think. Sam, your turn."

"On it. Wow. There's a lot of evil hardware options, but it looks like he's already tried… 'Weather machine'…"

"Vortex," they chanted together.

"'Unholy relics'…"

"Skeleton key." Danny nodded. "He'll probably come back to that one. I still don't know what happened to the Crown of Fire and he's always after quick ways to more power like that."

"'Matter transmuter'?"

"Ghost Portal counts for that one."

"Um. He doesn't need a 'Time machine' because he stole the Infimap. I don't see him using these ones here, and he doesn't need 'Invisiblility potion' because he can go invisible on his own."

"Is there more?"

"There's fashion tips. Looks like Vlad has gone with both 'classic black' and 'business suit' for his Masters persona. I'm not seeing anything for Plasmius, though… Oh, never mind. Here's an 'Evil MAKEOVER' complete with 'evil locks'…"

"He does have that hair-horn thing going on."

"We can't see if he's got 'nails of the dead' under those gloves."

"Technically he does, just because of ghost powers, but somehow I can't see him with anything other than a perfect manicure in either form. He's a total neat freak."

"True. That leaves his blue 'complexion correction' and his hunched 'posture perfect' when he transforms."

"Hey cool, we're almost done." Danny accepted the book back from Sam. "The final couple of pages are 'Making an Evil Plan.' Oh my God, ha hah hah!"

"What?"

"It's got like this Mad-libs of villainy, complete with example. I can totally see Vlad doing this!"

"You're joking."

"Nope. We've gotta try this. Do you have a pen?"

"I've got my PDA." Tucker suggested.

"Sorry, just eyeliner pencil, and I'm not sharing."

"Oh well. It's almost dinnertime anyway. Let's see what my mom's cooking and if it looks like it's going to come back to life and attack us. Then we can use the 'evil plan generator' to make a plan to steal Vlad's copy of this book."

"Danny, you're assuming that he actually has a copy of this book that he's using."

"C'mon, Sam. He almost has to be. Look how well it fits him! Almost every interaction I've had with the Fruit Loop can be found somewhere in this book!"

"He's got a point, Sam."

"Besides, even if he doesn't, we can still t.p. his mansion after we're done searching. It would take him forever to clean up, even with powers."

"Now that's a plan. I'm in!"

"Me too!"

"Let's go then!"

-The End!

* * *

A/N: I ended there because I couldn't think of a better ending and I'm tired. I was lazy for this one and quoted **heavily** from 'How to be a Villain: Evil Laughs, Secret Lairs, Master Plans and More!' by Neil Zawacki, which is an actual book that was gifted to me on my birthday a couple of years ago. It's not too pricey, so go and buy a copy if you can. I barely scraped the surface of how hilarious this thing is to read. When I saw the topic 'fruit loop', I immediately thought of Vlad sitting with this book and a pen, checking things off as he read. The Asteroid thing is actually in the section on destroying the world, but tractor beams are involved. Also, time for another disclaimer. I will not make any profit from the sales of this book, should you choose to buy it. Especially since I don't plan on selling anyone my copy. So nyah!

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	16. Discoveries 52

Challenge topic #52: Discoveries  
Character(s): Sam Manson  
Genre: Supernatural  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

He still had nightmares. She knew this. So, she took it upon herself to see that it would never **ever** happen again. Her research had led her to this. Frederich Isak Showenhower had not been the only one to inherit a mystical crystal globe. Somewhere far, far in the past his ancestors had resided in Bucharest. Arguably, the most haunted city in Bulgaria. Here the family had come upon its treasures, and here they had split. Freakshow's line had taken the _red_ crystal and eventually turned to entertaining the masses. The other branch of the family had taken _a clear _crystal globe and various other unnamed artifacts.

When Sam had hunted down the last living heir of that line she found he had just passed. Through her family's connections she managed to determine that the man had named no one in his will, stating simply that the items he treasured would find their own way to where they needed to be. A discrete note to his creditors, some dropping of names, and the settling of debts secured her all of his worldly possessions. Packed, shipped, and gone before anyone could even consider poking around through the mess. Most of it was useless. Some of it… the unnervingly comprehensive library of the occult, various family treasures, and other questionable items sat here now, in the basement of her home in Amity Park, Indiana. Arguably, the most haunted town in the US, if not the world. The first item she examined was the gentleman's detailed accounting of his proud family history and the comprehensive log of the provenance of each item of merit. How convenient that he'd done most of her work for her.

It seemed the crystal itself had disappeared shortly after the family had settled in what would become Chester, England (Arguably the most haunted city in England proper. This was getting almost ridiculous.) after William the Conqueror had done his conquering. She was still trying to trace its location. In the meantime, however, she had found the nature of its powers. Instead of control, the clear globe allowed communication. A notable psychic and Seer of the day had used it to communicate with the dead. She had also made a number of predictions, using the crystal as a focus for her own unknown powers. Most had been lost to the intervening centuries. Some had been recorded and preserved in the Anglo-Saxon language of her time. One in particular had caught Sam's attention. It occupied her thoughts and overwhelmed her dreams until she couldn't stand it any longer. The rest could wait.

_Hit bió innan se feórþa gere of degung of se þridda millennium of Wealdengod. Þider lecgan āc stede uppan hwelc hwīlum habban rest āc mihtig mæsse of freorig wæter. hwæs hefignes brytan se eard hiw āc micel breotan. Hit gestandan betweox lagustrēam and brim būtan sealt. Her motan findan āc wācnes betweox se middan-geard and se buan of se restleás dead. Her motan findan he hwa wesan siþboren, weorþan samstorfen. And he sculan forstandan gehwæþer þe cwic and gast wiþhabban inwitþanc fram hearm._

She might have made further use of her connections to have some etymological scholar translate the script, but this felt… private; something to be discovered and explored on her own. Even the thought of bringing in an outsider turned her stomach. It raised the hairs on her arms. And so she struggled through dictionaries and twisted grammar. She strained her eyes reading handwritten text that was too frail to be exposed to brighter light or modern duplication. And she discovered… that some things were meant to be.

'It shall pass in the fourth year of the dawning of the third millennium of our Lord God. There lies a place upon which once has rested a great mass of ice whose weight crushed the land to form a great depression. It stands between flowing waters and a sea without salt. Here may be found a weakness between the world where men live and the dwelling of the restless dead. Here may be found he who will be late-born, become half-dead. And he shall defend both living and ghost, having no evil intent, from harm.'

* * *

personal-challenge: write a passable 'prophecy'.

A/N: Hmmm. This isn't the fic I intended to write, but what could I do? The Great Lakes of the US were formed by glacial action in the Ice Age. They lay in what is known as the Great Lakes Basin. For the purposes of this story, Amity Park, IN is in the southern edge of the basin, just south/southeast of the southernmost tip of Lake Michigan/Huron and north/northwest of the Kankakee River. When counted as one lake (as is usually the case nowadays), Michigan/Huron covers roughly 45,445 square miles and is the largest body of freshwater in the world. The Old English words I've used here are only barely accurate. I found a translation engine and went word by word. The grammar, word gender, and sentence structure is from modern English. I'm too lazy to go any further into this.


	17. Freefall 54

Challenge topic #54: Freefall  
Character(s): Everybody  
Genre: Adventure  
Rating: T, some language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: I'm cheating a little. This story was huge and I was having some trouble with the points of view. So I'm splitting it into two individual oneshots. The companion piece is titled Opportunity. I'll be posting it in my next update. Now, on to the action!

_Thoughts _Action "Speech"

Part 1 of 2

* * *

"Okay. What are my options here?" he wondered as the wind tore through his hair. He looked down… or up, it was all relative, to try to estimate how much time he had left.

_Maybe thirteen seconds 'til I hit. I'm in uncontrolled freefall over several dozen screaming students and teachers, so I can't transform. Hmm._

The ground rushed closer as he thought. "No sign of Valerie and her rocket sled to come to my timely rescue. Tsk, never here when I need her, but always around and shooting at me when it's the worst possible time." He frowned. _Focus, Fenton! You're falling to your death here. Seven seconds._

The ghosts overhead crowed at the thought of his imminent messy demise. A couple of the specters continued to circle over his falling form, just to be sure. The rest of them took the opportunity to zip down and terrorize the spectators below, whipping them into a fearful frenzy. Feeding off of their victims' fright, they proceeded to spread their own brand of spectral chaos across Amity Park. He sighed. There was just one more thing to fix once he figured out how to avoid going splat on the blacktop below him. Tick tock. Five seconds to go.

_Hmm. What to do, what to do?_ The secret blowing, dirty, low-down, underhanded sneak spook (who'd grabbed him in front of his classmates before he'd had a chance to slip off and transform) had thrown him at a bit of an angle rather than simply dropping him. _Maybe I can work with this. I'm still high enough and everyone watching is distracted enough that I can probably get away with a little… course correction. 3-1/2 seconds._

Making up his mind, Danny focused briefly on his flight power. Pushing as hard as he could with it while in human form, he changed the angle of his descent. He allowed himself a flicker of a smile in the half second he had left. The angles were just right. He wouldn't be making his scheduled landing near the Home side football goalpost as planned by his spur-of-the-moment travel agent. Instead, he would be making an emergency crash landing through one of the high gymnasium windows.

_Hopefully there won't be anyone inside and I'll be able to change… I wonder if I should have been screaming on the way down, just to sell it. Oh well, too late n…_

Crash.

"…Ow."

He smashed through the window in a shower of glass. The screams started immediately. Of course, just his luck, the gym was packed with even more spectators. Their ranks were swelling as the students outside rushed to take shelter from the attacking ghosts.

"Oof… ump… ughn… oomph…. oooow"

_At least the collapsible bleachers were pulled out to break the rest of my fall_. He lay there on the highly polished floor for a moment catching his breath. Except for the falling thing, he was just as badly off as before; too many witnesses to transform, ghosts attacking him, ghosts attacking his classmates, and no convenient appearances by any of the other ghost hunters in town. All that was missing was some annoying fangirl to shout…

"Ghost Boy! Save us!"

_There we go._

Danny laid face down where he had crumpled on the gym floor, mentally reciting all the reasons that he should get up again, instead of just staying where he was until this all blew over. It would be so nice to just relax and hope all this went away. But now the screams were growing louder because the ghosts were phasing inside. And the students were stating to trample each other in their panic. And who even knew what was going on outside while he was stuck here, human and to all appearances helpless. And now the ghosts were shooting ectoplasmic beams at him.

"Danny!" And Sam was there, from out of nowhere, intending to take the hits for him.

_Oh, Hell no._

He had to take the chance. This was not going to be easy. Throwing up a shield around them without moving from his place on the floor, he cracked his eyes open just far enough to look at her. He whispered, "Close your eyes."

Danny concentrated on absorbing the energy of his enemies' blasts. Taking it in and spinning it with his own powers, he cast it out again through his shield. The resulting intensely bright flash might just be enough. If it wasn't, well, he'd deal with that when the time came. He transformed.

A quick glance confirmed that the ghosts were stunned and everyone else was shielding their eyes. Perfect. He was quite a bit better at the whole duplication thing, but this was still going to be a stretch. He quickly made a duplicate and had it turn human, returning to the gymnasium floor. Sweet! Human him even still had some bruising and scratches from the fall. When everyone looked up again Danny Phantom was standing with arms outstretched above Sam Manson and a 'still' prone Danny Fenton, shielding them.

The ghosts were grouping for another attack, so he turned quickly to Sam as he dropped the shield. "He looks like he hit his head pretty hard. Take him and the rest of these people to shelter somewhere while I deal with this, okay?"

He looked directly into her eyes as he said this. She looked back and nodded. Sam understood. She always did. It was still hard for him to maintain two forms at a distance when there was so much going on. It would be easiest if she took custody of a 'concussed' and largely unresponsive Fenton while Phantom carried on with the fight. That didn't mean she liked it. Her own direct look promised him a dressing down when this was all over, but… again, he could deal with that when the time came.

"I've got my personalized Specter Deflector and some light ghost fighting hardware. We'll be fine. Go." Sam watched as Phantom took to the air, then turned and shouted at the other students. "Somebody get over here and give me a hand with Danny. The rest of you! Haul your butts down to the basement. It's an old bomb shelter. Go, go, go!"

She watched Fenton's eyes fade from a clear, direct gaze to something quite a bit more fuzzy before directing a couple of the jocks to pull his arms across their shoulders. Another unspoken understanding was exchanged with Tucker where he hovered just out of sight behind a rack of equipment by the far door. His locker was on the far side of school. It had taken him until now, panting and sweating, to get there and return with weapons and a thermos. He nodded, accepting her silent order to follow Phantom outside and guard him as best as he was able from the ground. Mounting a rear guard with the few items she'd managed to snag from her gym locker when the attack started, she harried the students down the hall to the stairs. When they were all situated in the basement shelter, she 'asked' one of the teachers to locate a First Aid kit to tend to Fenton's back. The students peppered her with questions and demands.

"Why are you the only one who gets ghost guns?"

She snarled a response, "First off, they're not guns. It's illegal to bring guns to school. Almost everything I have here is either a deterrent or containment device. They won't do us much good against an all out assault, so shut the hell up so the ghosts don't find us down here. Secondly, Danny and I are the only ones here trained to use this equipment. And Danny, well…" she waved at him as he drunkenly leaned against some shelves on the wall, eyes at half mast and definitely a bit crossed.

"What if the ghosts attack us here? How is the basement any better than the rest of the school?" asked a timid freshman, shivering against the far wall.

Her reply was much gentler, but Sam maintained her scowl, "The ghosts I saw up there were mostly low level ones. They tend to…," she remembered the need to deflect, "The Fentons have told me that the lower levels of ghosts are pretty stupid. They won't think to attack from below or from the walls around us, since we're underground here. They won't attack at all if they can't find us, which is why the lack of windows is as much of an advantage as it is a handicap. And finally, this is an old bomb shelter. If the building above us is damaged, we're reinforced enough down here to be safe."

"You should go out for Debate next term, Manson." Ms. Testlaff applauded in her best approximation of a whisper, "Way to keep a cool head under fire." She moved to calm the rest of the students with the other teachers, handing some bandages and alcohol wipes to Sam on the way. Sam smirked before moving over to tend to Fenton. _If they only knew._

"Danny?" Sam lifted Fenton's head to look into his bleary eyes. He blinked. She whispered so she wouldn't be overheard. "Danny, does your ghost sense still work when you're like this? Can you warn me if something's coming?"

It took him a moment, blinking a few more times, before he responded 'yuh' and nodded slowly. "Good. That's good, rest now." Then she ruffled her hand through his hair, moving around to his back to swab and bandage the cuts there. When she was done, she joined the teachers in helping care for some of the other students who'd been injured. She kept one eye on Fenton as she worked. Of course, everyone just assumed she was concerned for her 'he's not my boyfriend', but his ghost sense would be the best early warning of an attack down here.

She didn't realize he'd left enough of his consciousness in his duplicate to act if necessary.

It was necessary.

Everyone had settled into a more or less calm waiting state. The few conversations were whispered and everyone kept their eyes directed upwards. They listened.

Breath fogged blue. Fenton snapped back into focus as Sam shouted at the screaming crowd to Get Down. A handful of ghosts phased through the ceiling, cackling in joy at having found their prey. Their leader gloated to the others in a raspy, dry leaf voice, incomprehensible to the humans, but clear to his kin, "I told you they wouldn't all have run away. Now, each of you grab one and get back up above. The boss is angry enough." The others may not have heard his words through the spectral warping of the sounds, but Fenton did. It was all he needed to know. The people around him were the only ones left in immediate danger. It was time to protect them.

Sam used her Specter Deflector clad body as a human shield between the ghosts and the students, opening up with her wrist ray. An offensive tackle from the varsity football team, swinging with a loose pipe complained, "I thought you said you didn't have any guns!"

"It's not a gun; it's a wrist ray, harmless to humans. And my training argument still holds. Now shut up and whack these uglies after I zap them. They can be hurt when they're tangible."

Fenton saw that her tactics were working, but there was a problem developing. In their fear, the students were lurching around. The ghosts were working like a wolf pack to separate out their victims. Sooner or later, they'd be able to grab someone. Then that person would be in the situation he'd started in, but without the powers to save themselves. He lunged to his feet to draw attention to himself, away from the others. He'd have to take a more active role. Phantom would just have to take a few more hits as Danny's consciousness spread more evenly between his bodies. "Sam, pull them together!"

The ghosts took the opportunity for 'easier' prey in the face of such unexpected resistance. They grabbed him and made their retreat through the ceiling once more. Sam cut loose with a stream of invective potent enough to shock everyone out of their screaming. The pipe-wielding senior gulped before making his offer.

"Manson, if you leave me your zap-belt thing, you can go after him. I'll take care of things down here."

She clenched her eyes and jaw tightly shut before sighing out her answer. "No. He'll be okay. Phantom's still up there and the Fentons or the ghost hunter with the jet sled might be here by now… and he might have some Fenton tech on him to defend himself. I didn't check." She looked at the jock speculatively, "I will give you the belt, though. You've got more experience with the whole tackling thing and you're pretty quick on your feet. Just wear it like a bandoleer or something; it's too small for your waist."

She handed it over and shepherded the students back into a tight huddle. Glancing upwards again, she muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Danny, I'm going to kick your ass when this is over." They shivered. Suddenly the ghosts didn't seem so bad.

-line break-

_Here we go again._

Fenton found himself carried into the skies for the second time that afternoon. He took the moment of relative peace to survey his situation. The school grounds below seemed mostly empty. Fewer witnesses to see him fight. Good. Police were on the scene, doing their usual specialty of crowd control while waiting for specialized backup. Unfortunately, their flashing lights and piercing sirens were providing just the right ratings-boosting backdrop for the freshly arrived news crews.

_Dang it. Now I have to be subtle. I don't want to do subtle!_ He frowned up at his captors. Closing his eyes, he got a bearing on Phantom, turning to see the fight taking place behind him. Fenton's awareness opened up to catch some of Phantom's growled conversation with … _what the… Skulker?_ as Phantom bashed away at the robotic ghost. The fight over there was being closely monitored by the local station's news copter. Joy. Now both of him had to be careful. He wanted to go back to bed. He agreed with his other half's observation that this made absolutely no sense, before turning his attention back to his own predicament. He was being carried closer and closer to the swirling mass of ghosts that surrounded the Phantom fight. Hmm.

"You guys really are as stupid as you look, aren't you?" he taunted. The two ghosts holding him snarled down at him, giving him a shake. The leader paused in his search for more hostages.

"What are you talking about, you stinking human? And why aren't you screami-aaah!" He stared, wide eyed at Fenton. "But you… you're over there… how can you… I don't…" He gathered himself. "You can't fool me, human! This is a trick. And it just killed you."

He started to order his followers to get rid of the boy, but Fenton interrupted, "Like I said… stupid. You didn't even look at who you grabbed, did you? Plasmius isn't the only one who can duplicate. And you aren't hurting anyone today. Ready for the express back to the Ghost Zone?" Fenton allowed his eyes to glow an otherworldly green as he smiled darkly at his foes. He powered up ectoblasts in his hands, small enough to be hidden from any cameras, and turned his grip onto his captors. Using them for leverage, he zapped them both just enough to stun and pushed off.

The leader ghost didn't have enough time to react to the swift change in circumstances. All he knew was two of his four followers were falling to the ground, helpless, while he suddenly had a face full of very upset half-ghost. Fenton began punching. Each charged strike pulled a shriek from the ghost as their flight spiraled out of control. With one hand, Fenton kept a tight grip on his impromptu ride. With the other he hit either the leader ghost or one of the few other specters who were brave enough to try to come to its rescue. The two remaining ghosts from the original group were just as short on courage as they were on brainpower. They fled after their fallen companions, and they disappeared with them into a swirling blue-white vortex that shot up from the ground. _Heh, way to go, Tucker!_

Taking advantage of Tucker's thermos-ready clean up service, Fenton sent specter after specter to the ground. He used whichever ghost he was currently pummeling as a mid-air stepping stone to the next. Most of the ghosts were preoccupied with the larger fight with Phantom. Fenton skirted the edges, letting ghosts grab him to keep up the illusion that he wasn't as in control of the circumstances as he truly was. Each time they grabbed, he retaliated with concealed ectoblasts or ice. He threw his human weight to direct their flight into other groups of ghosts. Then he'd disable his ride and move to the next ghost or allow another ghost to grab. To anyone watching it would seem like an airborne game of hot potato, with him as the potato. But his opponents would mysteriously fall away. He was actually making a pretty decent dent in the number of attackers when he heard the shout from below.

"Danny! Get away from my boy, you ectoplasmic scum!"

Fenton and Phantom looked down, distracted. Standing below were Jack and Maddie Fenton, ectocannons at the ready. _I swear, their timing sucks._

Taking advantage of the disruption, the ghosts immediately around Fenton shook him loose and escaped. Unsupported, he was left once more to the non-existent mercy of gravity. "Oh, come on! Again? Damn it!"

"Danny! No!" His parents could only watch him fall. Fenton took a split second to curse the really bad day he was having. Then he realized this was an opportunity. He closed his eyes and spread himself out in the air, leaving just enough of his consciousness to slow his fall with his powers. _Light as a feather, light as a feather, light as a feather…_ The rest of his awareness shifted to Phantom.

Up above, Phantom recovered himself after dispatching Skulker and dove after Fenton. He let his legs fade into a spectral tail, streamlining his flight to pick up as much speed as possible. As if it had been practiced a thousand times before, their hands grasped each other at the wrist. Phantom redirected their flight in a smooth curve to level out. _Maybe this will earn me some points with Mom and Dad. Can't be all bad if I save myself, right?_ Seeing their opponent escaping death again, the ghosts rallied and surged forward, blasting energy at the singular pair.

Shaking themselves out of their stupor, Jack and Maddie began shooting at the pursuing hoard. Phantom glanced around for somewhere to land his 'human' passenger, dodging ectoblasts from behind. He'd have to maintain two bodies, because that news copter was still circling, but if he found somewhere to stash himself he'd be able to go and finish this fight. Phantom dizzily held his free hand to his head for a moment. The strain was starting to tell. He shook it off and settled his sights on the roof of the gymnasium as a destination. The blasts were getting too thick to dodge anymore. He took a non-functional ghost blaster prototype he'd liberated from his parents and handed it to Fenton. It would be enough to disguise real ectoblasts. _Time to fight back._

Phantom flew for the rooftop, putting up a shield behind himself as they flew. Then he shifted most of his awareness back down into Fenton. While Phantom maintained the shield, Fenton twisted himself around to face his pursuers, firing at the ghosts behind him. He meticulously picked off the front runners of the group, disabling them as soon as they got into range and sending them fall down to either Tucker's thermos or Maddie's portal generating Fenton Bazooka. Any stray blasts that still managed to come his way deflected off the shield.

When he reached the roof, Phantom set Fenton down and let the duplicate lean against the low coping wall. Leaving that half of himself in the same barely aware stupor that he'd used just below here an eternity ago, Phantom flew back into the fray. He returned to the fight, leading the ghosts away from the school one more time, confident that everyone would see human Danny Fenton safe and sound on the gym roof while Phantom did his hero thing. _This seems like it's become much more complicated than it should be._

Fenton sat, gazing at nothing for an undetermined amount of time until the rooftop hatch slammed open. Just like before, he snapped back into attention, bringing his erstwhile weapon up to 'defend' himself. Looking across it, he gazed into the worried and startled eyes of his mother.

"Danny! Are you okay, sweetie? It's okay, you can put the gun down now. I'm here. I'll protect you."

Fenton sighed and lowered the gun. "Sorry, mom. You startled me. I'm okay."

"Are you sure? You're bleeding."

"Yeah. 'M jus' kinda dizzy. I think I hit my head. Sorry 'bout the gun. I don' think I coulda shot. No more charge." He allowed himself to slur the words, faking more hurt than he'd really suffered in order to cover his divided attentions. Maddie looked him over briefly before setting her sights back on the fight.

"Okay, sweetie. Rest up a minute. As soon as we're clear I'll get you down from here, alright?"

Fenton nodded and let his head droop to his chest. Before he moved all of himself back to Phantom he grasped his mother's arm. "Mom. Don' shoot Phantom. Ok?"

She glanced back at him briefly, considering. "Okay, Danny. I won't shoot Phantom. Just this once."

"Thanks."

He could hear her talking to Jack over the Fenton Phones as he allowed most of his consciousness to stay with Phantom. Every now and then her triumphant voice would break into his awareness as she tallied another hit.

The warning came to him just in time. "Mom! Eight o'clock high!" He raised his blaster and 'shot' at the ghosts attempting a sneak attack on Phantom's very effective ground support. Whipping around, Maddie fired three quick blasts into the approaching ghouls. The miniature portals sucked the flanking force into the Ghost Zone without even a whimper. Just like that, the fight was over.

"Good catch, Danny. Are you feeling better?" She knelt beside him, hand on his shoulder as she surveyed the aftermath of the battle over the roof's edge. Only Phantom remained, floating tired at the far edge of the school grounds across from her. She made eye contact as she considered what she'd seen this afternoon. Phantom only floated there, looking back into her eyes and waiting. He looked exhausted and … rather forlorn. Maddie made up her mind. She placed the Fenton Bazooka down on the rooftop beside her and nodded at him once. Phantom drew himself up into a straighter stance in the air and saluted her before fading from sight.

Realizing that her son had not answered her question, she squeezed his shoulder. "Danny? Honey, are you feeling better?"

Danny smiled, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm feeling more back to myself now. Let's get off the roof."

Maddie kissed his forehead and helped him stand, supporting him as he made his way to the roof hatch. She preceded him down the ladder to break his fall if he got too dizzy and slipped, but he was rapidly regaining his strength now that he was no longer divided. Jack was waiting at the bottom of the ladder.

"We took care of that problem! No ghost messes with Jack Fenton's family and gets away with it, right Danny? Good, let's go home and order some celebration pizza. I'm starving."

Danny nodded and let himself lean into his father's reassuring bulk. Whole or not, he was still exhausted and suffering from some wicked post-split vertigo. He took the opportunity to rest… until he heard the footsteps. Angry, stomping, steel-toed boot footsteps that grew closer by the second. "Um, Mom? Now that you're done protecting me from the ghosts can you protect me from Sam?"

* * *

A/N: I was calling them Fenton and Phantom, but that was just to distinguish between his two forms. He's still one guy with one personality who hasn't entirely managed (but is close to) the multi-tasking it takes to duplicate.


	18. Opportunity 96

Challenge topic #96: Opportunity  
Character(s): Everybody  
Genre: Adventure  
Rating: T, some language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: Here's the second oneshot, the companion piece to Freefall. It's from Phantom's POV, with only a little common material from the last oneshot. I tried to keep it original, but parallel to the first story. For those who couldn't follow last time: Danny has duplicated and had the duplicate turn human. Human him was hiding in the basement while ghost him fought. Human him was then dragged into the fight, so both were fighting in a big swirling mass of ghosts. Today's fic is the same action, from the ghost half's point of view. It was even more confusing when I tried it as one fic. I had to color code things! Now, on to the action!

_Thoughts _Action "Speech"

Part 2 of 2

* * *

Phantom looked directly into her eyes. She looked back and nodded. Sam understood. She always did. But that wasn't going to save him. Sam did not like to be sidelined during a fight. Her eyes promised him exquisite payback when this was all over, but he'd have to worry about that later. Right now there were ghosts to fight and he was finally free to fight them.

"I've got my personalized Specter Deflector and some light ghost fighting hardware. We'll be fine. Go." Sam watched as Phantom took to the air, then turned and shouted at the other students. "Somebody get over here and give me a hand with Danny. The rest of you! Haul your butts down to the basement. It's an old bomb shelter. Go, go, go!"

Phantom blasted away at the attacking ghosts, giving Sam time to get his duplicate 'Danny Fenton' and the others to safety. When the students had cleared the doors, he tackled the ghosts who hadn't already fled outside and turned them all intangible, forcing them through the outer wall.

"Which one of you idiots thought it would be a good idea to drop me from 500 feet? Huh?"

Phantom charged at the nearest ghost, grabbing it and giving it a powerful drop kick to send is spiraling high into the air. He shot a round of ectoblasts at the rest, clearing some space to get a better idea of what he was facing out here. There were at least seventy ghosts that he could spot right away. All of the people still outside were running away as quickly as they could. On the far side of the school, he could see that most of the remaining students and staff were evacuating though the front door. Police were arriving and setting up a perimeter. And there, right on cue, were the news teams.

_Freaking media vultures. What? Do they have an alert hotwired to the school's ghost alarm?_

At least they hadn't been around for his earlier plunge. Alright, with most of the vulnerable spectators out of the way, he'd be able to take care of business. Phantom started firing at the ghosts massing before him. Then he heard it, a high, terrified, and very human scream. This wouldn't be out of the ordinary for any ghost fight, but this scream was coming from above. He sent out a swift horizontal wave of power to push back the encroaching specters and took the opportunity to look up. There, high above him were more ghosts, and they had taken hostages. _Oh no._

He could vaguely hear Sam asking Fenton a question in the back of his mind, but he didn't have the attention to spare for it. Zooming upwards, Phantom raced to grab the frightened students before the ghosts holding them had time to act. Only one of the three had the strength to scream. The others were too petrified to even struggle. Phantom knew he was leaving himself open to his enemies' ectoblasts, but he needed the energy for speed. He could take a few hits if it meant getting up there in time. This was going to be tricky.

The ghosts holding the hostages were low level and not very bright. They obviously hadn't been given any orders on what to do if Phantom brought the fight to them instead of trying to bargain. He leaned in with a punch for the centermost ghost, firing a quick, low powered ectoblast from either hand at the ghosts on each side. The ghosts dropped their human freight, and before the students could even register that they were falling, Phantom had a grip on them. "It's okay. I've got you. Close your eyes and hold on tight. You're safe."

Phantom repeated the mantra over and over to his passengers, hoping he'd still have some of his hearing by the time they reached safety. He reversed his flight to plunge down through the group of ghosts below. He caught them by surprise, stabbing through their formation to reach the ground. Praying that the police had sense enough not to open fire on him when he was holding other people, he dashed for the nearest cruiser. When he got there he had to phase out of the death grips of his passengers, handing them to the nearest patrolman while they gibbered incoherently. One officer with a bit more self confidence addressed him, "Phantom, have the ghosts taken anyone else?"

He focused a bit to see what, if anything, his other self knew. "Not that I know of, but I think there are still some people hiding in the school. I'll see if I can draw these guys away. That should give you some time to search the building."

He took off again to the sound of the approaching news helicopter. He spotted movement as he swept his eyes across the scene before him. Tucker was waving at him from down there, ready to assist. He waved the Fenton Thermos at Phantom and signaled his plan. Phantom nodded, it was a good one. They'd never see it coming. He leaped skyward, drawing the ghosts' attention upward. He taunted them, tossing careless ectoblasts into the throng, not seeming to care if they hit. When they couldn't get any more enraged, he literally turned tail and ran. They pursued.

Phantom soared away from the people below, drawing the ghosts along with him. He tossed a glance over his shoulder to confirm they'd taken his bait. _Perfect._ He flew in a wide circle, coming back to his starting point. Slowing in his flight, he allowed them to close in on him. The timing had to be just right. He had no worries, though. Tucker had improved as much in his use of the thermos as Danny had with duplication. Just when the nearest ghost was almost close enough to sink in its claws, Phantom banked hard to the right.

The ghosts didn't stand a chance. The thermos' unwinding spiral energies caught the pack's leaders even before it finished powering up. Half of the remainder were sucked in before they had a chance to slow. Phantom smirked and blasted at the rest of the ghouls, his shots much more precise this time. "You idiots don't have any business being out of the Ghost Zone. You're slow! Weak! I ought to bring in a bunch of kindergarten kids. Any one of them could kick your butts and save me the trouble!"

Phantom chased them with his ectoblasts as they had chased him just moments before. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tucker sprinting to a new hiding place. Phantom had managed to draw the ghosts' attention completely onto himself, giving Tucker a chance to set up and get ready to go again. Not one of the fleeing specters had time to even process more than the need to run, let alone to punish the human who'd dared to attack them from below. He knew that they wouldn't be foolish enough to follow him into the trap more than once, but that didn't mean Phantom couldn't chase them into the trap. It all came to the same end.

Phantom was halfway into his herding cycle when the plan fell apart. He faltered in his flight slightly, letting some of the ghosts swing out from his intended path. Phantom's attention wavered and he slowed some more, drifting to a halt. His duplicate and the people with him in the school basement were under attack. He was too far apart from his other self to split his attention enough to put up a good fight in both forms. _Oh man, this is going to hurt._

He braced himself in the air, ready to absorb some abuse until he could fight back properly. Seeing his hesitation, the escaping ghosts slowed to a stop. They were obviously fearful of some trick, but the ghost boy had stopped firing, stopped flying. This might be the opening they needed to take him down. Moving cautiously, they flew to surround him. Phantom grimaced, but wasn't too worried. It seemed that he could afford to wait. The ghosts were timid after his last trick and he could feel them bringing Fenton outside of the school, closer to where he waited. His contempt grew. At this rate, he'd be close enough to his other self to fight as full out as he had been doing earlier. They were taking their sweet time gathering up the guts to attack him. Fine, let them hesitate. It would make things easier for him.

Phantom took time to taunt the circling specters further, cocking his head and waving at them with both hands in a 'bring it' gesture. _Just a little longer._

And once again his plan fell apart. The true leader of this ghost attack struck suddenly from above, driving Phantom downwards into the ground. Phantom looked up into glowing green eyes. "Hello, whelp. Having fun with _my _little helpers?"

_What the…? Skulker?_ Phantom blasted directly into the robotic ghost's chest plate with a double fisted ectoblast. Skulker was knocked back up into the circle of ghosts above, followed closely by Phantom. Fenton was very close now. Phantom could give as much attention to his fight as needed. "Skulker? You're the one hosting this little party? That makes absolutely no sense."

Phantom threw a handful of ectoblasts into the crowd of ghosts around them to keep them from getting ideas as he elaborated. "What's up with all this? This isn't like you. Where are the nets? The missiles? The elaborate death traps? You don't do team ups! You especially don't do team ups with idiots like these." He waved dismissively at the surrounding spooks, who growled back at his insult.

"You be quiet! The only thing you morons have going is your numbers and you were even screwing that up. I wasn't even working up a sweat!"

"I know a fishing expedition when I see one, whelp. You'll get no information from me. Now, prepare to become a pelt on my floor." Skulker powered up both shoulder mounted missile launchers and his favorite arm cannon. Phantom gulped. Maybe this was going to be painful after all. He drew out the plans in his head, then smiled suddenly. Oh. Oh yes, this would be very painful indeed. He braced himself. Skulker fired.

And Phantom dodged. "I'm not fishing, Skulker. I've got all the info I need."

He wove his flight gracefully around the incoming laser blasts. A couple of the blasts singed him, but not enough to make a difference. "You prefer to work alone, so coming here with these yahoos means you're doing this under orders. Orders mean Plasmius. You don't take them from anyone else."

He phased through the missiles, dodging in a leisurely circle around the hunter. "This whole thing is reeeally poorly planned, which means he only gave you a very basic idea of what to do. You are here to distract me while he gets up to something else." Phantom grinned smugly. He'd seen Tucker down below and knew he'd heard every word. The techno whiz was already typing madly away to track the location and actions of the older half ghost. He'd also seen Fenton, pecking away at the edges of the swarm of ghosts, sending them tumbling down to Tucker's waiting thermos. _Hmm, that's some good multi-tasking Tuck's doing. He didn't even look up to catch that last one. I'll have to remember to buy him a Nasty Burger._

Phantom flew up close to the seething hunter and floated there, arms crossed. "Should I wait here while you take out the rest of your cronies?"

Skulker looked at him, confused, before glancing around. Every missed blast and missile had struck behind Phantom, directly in the waiting ghosts. They were now flying around in complete chaos. He was down to less than a third of his original force. He screamed in rage.

"What? No? It's not like it's any big loss, but okay. Let's play." Phantom taunted Skulker into following him upwards. He didn't want the hunter to notice Tucker down below. _Mustn't interrupt his techno wizardry. Or the cherry picking Fenton's doing. At this rate there won't be anything left for me to do._

Phantom led Skulker upward, at an angle away from the news copter. "This is really kinda pathetic, Skulker. Have you thought this through at all? Not your best work. An invasion this big is gonna attract the Dorks in White. Especially with all of this news coverage. I hear they're looking for additional funding. Do you _want_ them to waltz off with another one of your exoskeletons?" Skulker slowed his furious pursuit, starting to look pensive.

Phantom took the opening and quickly reversed his course, phasing right through Skulker's robotic body to latch onto his wings from behind. "That's probably Plasmius' game. You make a big messy stink. The GiW comes into town to harass me some more. Plasmius picks up the pieces. His hands stay clean and you take the fall. You really need to reconsider this working for Vlad thing you've got going. You're just another pawn to him. He's playing you just like he tries to play me." _Huh, I was just bluffing, but that might just be exactly what he's up to. I'll have to run this past Sam and Tuck after I wrap this up._

"Silence, whelp! You know nothing. I will mount your head on my wall!" He thrashed in the air, trying to throw Phantom off his back.

"Broken record, Skulker. And yet, still just as gross. There's only one thing you can tell me that I don't already know." Skulker slowed his struggles to bring a weapon, any weapon, to bear on the ghost boy.

"How wired into this suit are you? Can you feel through it?"

"What? No, that's just disturbing. This is a very advanced, highly responsive robotic battle suit. The Ultimate Weapon! Perfect for the Ghost Zone's Greatest Hunter!" Skulker resumed his thrashing about.

"Oh sure, that's disturbing but the whole 'skin the ghost boy' thing is perfectly normal. You're seriously warped. Still… good to know. If you can't actually feel, then I don't have to feel guilty about doing this." Phantom proceeded to shred Skulker's robotic body into tiny, useless scraps of metal, letting them fall to the abandoned parking lot below. He ripped the wings right off. He snapped off the rocket launchers where they left Skulker's shoulders. He shot icicles into every joint on the robotic body, severing limbs into independent, ineffective fragments. He powered up one fist as much as possible and plunged it through the metallic torso in front of him, melting a hole clear through Skulker's main processing computer. And finally, he twisted off the head, allowing what was left the smoking wreck to fall.

Phantom contemplated the powerless head for a moment before pulling Skulker's flabbergasted true form out of it. "Time to cut your losses, Skulker. This isn't even half the fight you could have given me on your own. The only win you get out of this is whatever Vlad's paying you. Maybe it'll be enough to buy yourself a new suit. Shoo."

He had just tossed Skulker in the rough direction of the Fenton Portal when he heard the shout from below.

"Danny! Get away from my boy, you ectoplasmic scum!"

Phantom and Fenton looked down, distracted. Standing below were Jack and Maddie Fenton, ectocannons at the ready. _I swear, their timing sucks._

Taking advantage of the disruption, the ghosts immediately around Fenton shook him loose and escaped. Unsupported, he was left once more to the non-existent mercy of gravity.

"Danny! No!" His parents could only watch him fall. Phantom took a split second to curse the really bad day he was having. Only he could manage to have a test free school day dissolve into something as disastrous as this. Involuntary freefall twice in one day? But maybe, he thought as he caught the gist of Fenton's thoughts, maybe he could turn this into an opportunity. Phantom pulled most of his awareness into himself and dove after Fenton. He let his legs fade into a spectral tail, streamlining his flight to pick up as much speed as possible. As if it had been practiced a thousand times before, their hands grasped each other at the wrist. Phantom redirected their flight in a smooth curve to level out. _Maybe this will earn me some points with Mom and Dad. Can't be all bad if I save myself, right?_ Seeing their opponent escaping death again, the remaining ghosts rallied and surged forward, blasting energy at the singular pair.

Shaking themselves out of their stupor, Jack and Maddie began shooting at the pursuing hoard. Phantom glanced around for somewhere to land his 'human' passenger, dodging ectoblasts from behind. _Some positive news coverage couldn't hurt either. Even the GiW might hesitate a little in the face of public opinion. They can't build their stupidly named weapons to hunt me with without taxpayer dollars._

Phantom dizzily held his free hand to his head for a moment. The strain was starting to tell. He shook it off and settled his sights on the roof of the gymnasium as somewhere to deposit Fenton. The blasts were getting too thick to dodge anymore. He took a non-functional ghost blaster prototype he'd liberated from his parents and handed it to Fenton. It would be enough to disguise real ectoblasts fired by his duplicate. _Time to fight back._

Phantom flew for the rooftop, putting up a shield behind himself as they flew. Then he shifted most of his awareness back down into Fenton. While Phantom maintained the shield, Fenton twisted himself around to face his pursuers, firing at the ghosts behind him. He meticulously picked off the front runners of the group, disabling them as soon as they got into range and sending them fall down to either Tucker's thermos or Maddie's portal generating Fenton Bazooka. Any stray blasts that still managed to come his way deflected off the shield.

When he reached the roof, Phantom set Fenton down and let the duplicate lean against the low coping wall. Leaving that half of himself in the same barely aware stupor that he'd used just below here an eternity ago, Phantom flew back into the fray. He returned to the fight, leading the ghosts away from the school one more time, confident that everyone would see human Danny Fenton safe and sound on the gym roof while Phantom did his hero thing. _This seems like it's become much more complicated than it should be._

The ghosts that were left weren't much of a threat to anyone, but they had to be sent back to the Ghost Zone all the same. Clean up wouldn't take too much time or attention. It was just as well, his energy was seriously fading from maintaining a duplicate for so long during a fight. He listened vaguely with the back of his mind to the conversation Fenton was having with his mother. "_Mom. Don' shoot Phantom. Ok?_"

It looked like he might finally be making some headway there. He could always hope.

Phantom watched Maddie begin to pick off the ghosts with her bazooka, coordinating her attack with Jack over the Fenton Phones. Man, he loved his folks when they weren't shooting at him. He fired his ectoblasts, maneuvering the ghosts back towards their weapons just like he'd been doing with the aborted herding he'd done towards Tucker's thermos earlier. He laughed out loud each time his mom's triumphant voice tallied another hit. But something wasn't adding up. There should be more ghosts than this. Did they run away?

Phantom saw the problem just in time and sent a warning through his duplicate. "Mom! Eight o'clock high!" Fenton raised his blaster and 'shot' at the ghosts attempting a sneak attack on Phantom's very effective ground support. Whipping around, Maddie fired three quick blasts into the approaching ghouls. The miniature portals sucked the flanking force into the Ghost Zone without even a whimper. Just like that, the fight was over.

Maddie knelt beside her son, hand on his shoulder as she surveyed the aftermath of the battle over the roof's edge. Only Phantom remained, floating tired at the far edge of the school grounds across from her. She made eye contact. Phantom only floated there, looking back into her eyes and waiting.

He couldn't read her expression. He wanted to hope, but she wasn't giving anything away and Fenton wasn't hearing her say anything that could give him a clue, one way or another. All he could do was wait. Maddie made up her mind. She placed the Fenton Bazooka down on the rooftop beside her and nodded at him once. Relieved, he drew himself up into a straighter stance in the air and saluted her before fading from sight, allowing his consciousness and remaining energy to return to Fenton's body.

Maddie squeezed his shoulder. "Danny? Honey, are you feeling better?"

Danny smiled, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm feeling more back to myself now. Let's get off the roof."

Maddie kissed his forehead and helped him stand, supporting him as he made his way to the roof hatch. What a relief. Danny was rapidly regaining his strength now that he was no longer divided, but getting down the ladder when he was so tired was still a chore. They found Jack was waiting at the bottom.

"We took care of that problem! No ghost messes with Jack Fenton's family and gets away with it, right Danny? Good, let's go home and order some celebration pizza. I'm starving."

Danny nodded and let himself lean into his father's reassuring bulk. Whole or not, he was still exhausted and suffering from some wicked post-split vertigo. He took the opportunity to rest… until he heard the footsteps. Angry, stomping, steel-toed boot footsteps that grew closer by the second. "Um, Mom? Now that you're done protecting me from the ghosts can you protect me from Sam?"

* * *

A/N: Since I forgot to give credit in the last part, I got the idea for Danny shooting his own energies through a non-functional ghost weapon from a fic written by Chaos Dragon. I don't remember which one, but they're all good. Take some time to go read over her stuff if you haven't yet. She's listed under my Fav authors.


	19. Destroy 76

Challenge topic #76: Destroy  
Character(s): DF, SM, TF  
Genre: Adventure  
Rating: T, some violence.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

He ran down the desert slope to the nearest vehicle, weapon at the ready. Jumping in the shotgun side he yelled, "Gun it! Go!"

His wheelman directed the Ground Assault Vehicle around the base of the dune… straight into the approaching enemy forces. A quick firefight ensued. Piloting the off-roader like a two ton ballerina, the wheelman pivoted the vehicle around on two wheels, letting his friend bring the high powered rifle to bear.

"Got 'em! Head up the slope so I can pick off the runners!"

The GAV twirled around again, throwing up immense rooster tails of sand as it lunged up the steep grade. They were taking heavy fire from their opponents' ground forces and an annoyingly persistent flier. The pilot pushed their vehicle to the limit, fishtailing into a spin to miss a strafing run from their airborne foe. "Ignore the groundlings and brace yourself. I'm gonna try something crazy!"

"Oh, man. Your 'crazy' always leaves me looking for first aid packs. Can we talk about this?"

"Banzai!" They slewed around in a tight circle and charged the low flying enemy in a game of chicken. "Shoot him!" They raced ever closer. At the last possible moment, he feinted left, as if he were going to split off. Then came the crazy. Instead of flooring the gas to take off on the tangent, he pulled the GAV all the way around in a 180 and _backed up_ at full speed into the confused enemy. There was a sickening crunch and grinding of metal. Somehow the rifleman managed to keep his sights more or less on target and continued to pump energy rounds into the flier until it had been taken down.

"I can't do this with you anymore, man. You're making me motion sick. This thing still drivable?"

"Yeah, that's why I smacked him with our tail. The armor should hold up long enough to get us where we want to go. Where to now?" The wheelman plowed ahead once more, casually running down a couple of gob-smacked ground troops who were unable to dive out of the way in time.

"I'm pretty sure they're based in that tall building over there. Let me just… got him. Okay, if we can get to that building, we can clear it and take the high ground for our side. Can you drive us there and still pass the word along to our guys on the encoded line?"

"Yeah, no prob."

"Okay. Have them move in following our lead. When we get there, load up on all the weaponry from the back that you can carry. Make sure you get the scoped rifles. That rooftop is perfect for sniping. I'll keep up a covering fire until you're inside. When we're in, you hold the front entrance and I'll move up floor by floor to the roof. Got it?" He kept up his instructions, methodically picking off his foes as they came into his sights. They were old hands at this.

"Got it… All units are confirming. We're making the run."

Under heavy fire from the building in question, the wheelman sent a brief order to the following friendly vehicles to split off, and quickly drove right into a heavily shaded alleyway. The single enemy holding the end of it didn't stand a chance against the rifleman's aim in such narrow quarters. When they reached the base of the building, the steaming wreck that had been their vehicle shuddered to a stop. The rifleman bailed out the door and ran from cover to cover, taking his shots where he could get them. Turning a corner, he unexpectedly came face to face with one of his foes and reflexively blasted him at point blank range. He finished the job with a quick strike of the rifle butt.

"Are you in yet? I'm getting pounded out here!"

"I'm inside and in position to give you cover. Come on."

The rifleman bolted for the front doors of the building. Under the shelter of the lobby's walls, he paused to put a new energy pack in his rifle. "Ugh. I'm not doing too well. They were swarming all over me."

"There's a first aid kit over behind the counter. Patch yourself up. We can wait down here until backup gets here if you don't want to tackle the rest of the building yourself."

"No. We're on a deadline, remember? They aren't getting here fast enough." He made use of the med kit and headed for the stairs, picking up a sniper rifle on the way. "You good here?"

"Yeah, go ahead. When the others get here, I'll get them to take up posts to sweep the neighboring buildings before we demolish this one and move to our base. You still have your grapple equipped for a quick get away? This isn't supposed to be a suicide run." The wheelman said as he carefully lined up his weapons beside him.

"I'm good. We'll meet up again at the municipal building, just like we planned. Luck."

Proceeding up the stairs, he systematically cleared each floor in turn. Moving quickly and silently, the rifleman progressed towards the rooftop.

"Hey, you reading me? Check your radar. I'm not finding as many guys up here as we thought. This is way too easy." The rifleman slowly panned his current floor with his HUD. No one else was reading on the display. He looked upwards. Nothing on the remaining floors, either.

"Looks like most of them bailed out the back before you got to them. Ha! Your legend precedes you, my man! As far as I can see you're good all the way up. Have fun working your sniper magic from the roof. The rest of our guys are coming in now."

Shrugging, but ready to rack up some more enemy hits, the rifleman ran the rest of the way up to the roof. He was just drawing a bead on one of the enemies below when it happened.

GAME OVER

YOU LOSE

"Wait. What! What just happened?" Danny leaned away from the computer in complete confusion. The 'game over' message flashed over the continuing action, taunting him. "Tucker! We've got a problem. Somebody just took me out. Tucker?"

There was no response on the headset, but his cellphone started to ring. "Hello?"

"HA! I OWN YOU, DANNY! NO ONE BEATS CHAOS!"

He grimaced before responding. "Stop with the ego and just tell me what happened. You weren't on the radar, my heads up display, OR visible in plain sight anywhere. Where the heck did you just come from?"

"Stealth mode, Danny. Duh. If you're actually _looking_ you can see the distortion field around me. Just like in FemAlien… Or when you're fighting an invisible ghost. You really shouldn't have fallen for such a played out trick like that. I've been waiting for you on the roof since I saw you start for my tower."

"Uh huh. And what cheat is keeping me from warning Tucker that you're up here?"

"It's called 'Dead Men Tell No Tales' and it's not a cheat. It's a legitimate boost. All the really good players know where to find it. If you're nice to me I might tell you where it's at. For now though, I'm going to put you on speakerphone so you can hear me take out the rest of your team. Ready?"

"No."

Sam ignored his pouting reply and continued to issue commands to her team over her headset. In less than thirty seconds his surviving team was entirely in the building, Chaos was off the roof, and Sam issued her final command.

"DESTROY!"

The tower building exploded in a brilliant pixilated glory of fire due to all of the explosive charges thoughtfully placed by Team Chaos before they abandoned the building to Team Specter. A chorus of surprised and angry voices echoed through his headset. He knew the GAME OVER message was on _everyone's_ screen now. "Danny? What the heck did you do?"

"I can talk now that we're all dead, huh? It wasn't me, guys. Chaos was hiding on the roof, packed up to the gills with boosts, and Team Chaos booby trapped the building before they left. We're gonna have to try again next week." Mutinous grumbles were heard as everyone signed off.

Switching into messenger mode, Danny called up his webcam. "Sam, I'm not playing Doomed Versus against you anymore. That's it. Done."  
Tucker chimed in with his agreement.

"Too bad, so sad, you don't get to quit now. The whole point of this was to improve your strategy skills somewhere where all the blood you lost was virtual. You keep fighting me until you beat me. Got it?"

"You can't make us!" Tucker protested.

"You both know that I can and will. Now, Danny, I knew the second you made the charge for the building what you were planning to do. You need to switch up your strategies for King of the Mountain scenarios like this. You also need to be more cautious. You are taking way too much damage to your player by always taking the lead like that. No amount of good aim will save you if you keep being so reckless. You can't always count on a convenient health boost either in the game or in real life."

"I'm working on getting that as one of my ghost powers." He stuck out his tongue at her.

"Uh uh. Serious time now. I told my team to leave the Lobby health pack alone so that you could use it. I wanted the pleasure of taking you out when you were at full health. Hardly anything you did in this game surprised me. I know all your moves, and any of your smarter enemies will too."

Tucker grinned over at Danny's window. "She's got you, man."

"I know where you live, Tucker." Danny growled back, but Tucker just laughed him off.

"Oh, and I would recommend that you don't let Tucker drive anymore. The vehicles in the game are not meant to be disposable resources. For a while there I thought he'd finish you off before I got the chance to." She smirked at them through the camera. "Now, come on. There's half an hour before dinner. Time enough for a two on one last-man-standing. And, to give you two losers a break I will fight with just a combat knife. Meet me in the Library Maze."

The boys groaned, but complied, logging in once more to their epic battle against the forces of Chaos (aka Sam Manson).

* * *

A/N: Rifleman = Danny, Wheelman = Tucker, Chaos = Sam. Thanks to my X-box buddies who obliged me with some multi-player Halo action so that I could get a feel for a combat setting.


	20. Only Human 62

Challenge topic #62: Only Human  
Character(s): Tucker Foley  
Genre: General, Humor  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: I realized I've made a terrible faux pas. I featured Tucker in both parts of my two-part story Freefall/ Opportunity, and didn't give him any speech. Tucker! Not one word! So here is part **three** of two. A first person view of the action from the last stories, all Foley.

Special note to 'Call me Mad AKA Ninja Fish': Don't read if you don't want to see yet another spin on the same story. I've really run this one scene into the ground. OVERKILL! YEAH!

* * *

You'd think with all of the running I do chasing after Danny that I'd be in better shape. I mean, it's not like I spend all of my time behind a computer or zipping around on my electric scooter. Just most of it. Okay, but still, I should be more fit than this. Danny's not the only one who learned a lesson with that whole Presidential Fitness thing. I've been working out, a little. Sometimes.

In my defense, I have just run clear across the school, twice. And it's really humid. You try that and see how you do. Danny's ghost sense went off and before Sam and I could go into our usual 'cover for him' routine some ghosts came right up and grabbed him and carried him into the sky above the school. Right in front of everybody. It's really weird, because they looked pretty weak and I wouldn't think they had the guts to face Danny up close like that, human or not. Do ghosts even have guts?

Anyway, Sam and I didn't even have to say anything to each other. Danny's pretty much out of commission until he can get away and out of sight to change, so it's up to the two of us. I don't know what weapons Sam's got, but it's absolutely vital that I go get my stuff. I've got the thermos and since there looks like there's a lot more ghosts up there than usual, we're gonna need it. Unfortunately, I carry too much tech in my bag to keep many ghost weapons on me. My stash is in my school locker… all the way on the other side of the school. Man, let me catch my breath.

Okay, I'm back now. I saw some of these guys grab another student as I made my way back to the gym, so hiding… I mean doing some reconnaissance from cover seems like the best idea right now. Danny's over there, face down on the floor. Eww, is he bleeding? It looks like the ghosts threw him through the window. At least he got away. But there are still too many people around for him to change. And he's got to change, because he's not the only hostage the ghosts have taken. I don't think any of my fellow students can take being thrown through a window like he can. Speaking of which, shouldn't he be moving by now?

I'm just getting ready to distract everyone so he can get off his lazy butt and transform into his ghost half, when the ghosts come in. And now they're shooting at him. Before I can even raise the thermos, Sam is there intending to take the hits for him. Is she crazy? Oh, wait, I can see she's wearing the Specter Deflector belt. Yeah, that should do it. And this is the one that I specially modified with my technological mastery so that it won't shock Danny if we touch him. That's right, I rock.

I'm just wondering if skinny little Sam will be enough to block all the incoming fire, when Danny proves that he's not as out of it as he seems. Up goes the shield. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad my two best friends in the world haven't been fried extra crispy, but what is he thinking? He can't use his powers in front of everybody! Stupid, self sacrificing lovebird thinking!

I smack my hand over my eyes in disgust, and see an intensely bright flash through the cracks between my fingers. Oh, no. What now? Wait, I get it. He's using the blinding light for cover. Good thing I covered my eyes just then, or I'd be blinking away the afterimages just like everyone else in the gym right now. I am so glad to finally see him transform, but how is he going to explain…

Oh, sweet. I knew he was getting better with the whole duplication thing, but I didn't know he could turn one of them human. Maybe he got the idea from the fruitloop.

The ghosts are coming back for another attack, so he's leaving Sam with his human body. Man, she's gonna tear him a new one for putting her on the sidelines like that. I know he's braver in ghost form, but this is just asking to be mauled. Poor Danny.

She's having a couple of the jocks drag him out of the gym while he's up in the air fighting off the, wait… this can get really confusing really fast. I…

She's spotted me and she doesn't even have to say anything. It's now my job to watch Danny's back. I nod, accepting Sam's silent order. I'll protect him the best I can from the ground. I'll watch his back right up until the ghosts have all been taken care of. Then I'm getting the heck out of Dodge. No way am I getting between him and the Wrath of Sam. Ha, sounds like a movie. I wonder if I can do a quick flash animation for that. Maybe later. For now, I have to get back to business.

Danny's already blasted or phased all the ghosts outside, so I've gotta get moving. I make it outside just in time to hear the screaming from above. Man, that isn't Danny. It must be the hostage. Oh no. Make that hostages, plural. That's going to be tough for him to take care of… or it could be just the most totally awesome thing I've seen him do all week. He got all three!

I take a moment while I wait in cover to hijack the transmission feeds of the recently arrived news teams and route them back to the hard drive of my home computer. I set up the program a while ago to get the unedited footage of Danny's more public fights for my archives. When I first started recording his fights, I'd have to rely on my very shaky glasses-cam or I'd have to record whatever biased crap they'd air on the evening news. Neither one is ideal. Now it just takes a couple of clicks on my PDA and voilá! I'll say it again, but only because it's so true. I rock.

Looks like Danny's already on his way back and headed over towards the police lines to drop off his passengers. Man, I hope they don't try to shoot him. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. Your guns won't do any good against a ghost, so don't shoot at my best friend, please. Yay! I must be psychic. They've obeyed my mental commands!

I do wonder about that sometimes. The psychic thing. Not with everyday people, but with Sam and Danny. Like right now. He didn't even know I was out here, but when he turned away from the cops he looked right into my eyes. I wave the thermos at him and signal my plan. I point at the ghosts. I make a circle in the air. I make a fist and bring it back in towards my chest and the thermos. That's it. He nods. That's all we need. No words spoken.

I take a minute while Danny taunts the ghosts into chasing him to think about this. Sure, some of our understanding can be written off to having been very good friends since kindergarten. Danny and I share everything. Always have. Even more of this can be because the three of us go through really intense, life and death fights on an almost daily basis. Jazz goes on and on and on about it. And what it does to our mental health. I usually just ignore her.

But I do have to look at the evidence. Danny was inside the Ghost Portal when he fired it up, and Sam and I were outside. Really close by outside. When he started screaming in there all of my hair stood on end. It felt like I was getting zapped too. At the time I thought it was just the fear of losing Danny, but maybe… maybe we got our molecules rearranged a little too. I know I'm only human. I've got no problem with that. Not anymore. I'm totally over the whole jealous of the powers thing. Because I think I got a little something extra that day. Leaving out how Sam and I always know when Danny's in trouble and how Sam always seems to know when he's around and what he's thinking… (which is more than just the lovebirds thing, I mean really. Even true love has its limits.) Leaving all of that out… look at everything we've done, just in this fight. When Danny got grabbed, Sam and I both split for our weapons. I ran right into the gym, even though I wasn't sure that's where they'd be. I covered my eyes just in time to keep from being blinded. Sam 'told' me to help Danny. Danny has agreed to a plan we didn't work out beforehand. And it's working perfectly.

Danny has let the ghosts get almost close enough to sink in their claws, but he's right on top of me now, so I open the thermos. Just as he banks hard to the right. I knew he would. No words spoken. The ghosts don't stand a chance. The thermos' unwinding spiral energies catch the leaders even before it finishes powering up. Half of the rest get sucked in before they have a chance to realize what's going on.

I sprint for another patch of cover while Danny distracts them. He's shouting about kindergarteners kicking their butts, which is weird since I was just thinking about kindergarten with him. Then again, it's just more proof of what I've been thinking. We're linked. I know it sounds crazy. I want to throw out the whole idea as an exercise induced delusion, but… what can I say? My best friend is flying overhead under his own power, throwing energy blasts from his hands at a huge group of malevolent, extra-dimensional, energy-based entities. The linkage doesn't sound nearly as crazy as what's happening above me right now.

And you know what else? I know Danny's headed back to me for part two. The ghosts are smart enough not to follow him into my trap again, but that doesn't mean he can't chase them here. It will all end the same.

Wait. What's he stopping for? Letting those idiot ghosts surround him like that was not part of my perfect plan, part two. Something must be wrong. Ouch. Aaaand Skulker makes a surprise appearance and plows Danny into a brand new crater in the ground. Yikes! Why the heck is he here? This doesn't make any sense! All of a sudden, this fight got a lot harder. I've got to get over there to give him some backup.

On my way, I see what the problem might have been. The ghosts were looking for more hostages, apparently, and they grabbed Danny Fenton. Again. It's really not like Skulker to team up with anyone this stupid. Huh, and he's barely landing any hits on Danny Phantom. Definitely way off his game today. Hmm. That's interesting. The closer the two Danny's get, the better they're fighting. He must be able to split his attention better when he's at a smaller distance. I'll have to note that down for power testing and training later. The Fenton half sends down two of the ghosts that were hauling him around and two more follow. They don't even see me here, so I suck them right into the thermos. That's right, man. I got your back. Backs. Whatever.

All of a sudden this fight doesn't look nearly so bad. I'm close enough now to hear what Danny Phantom is telling Skulker. Oh, crap. Vlad's behind this? That does explain why Skulker's here with more than half of his force already taken out. Danny's Phantom half is letting Skulker pick off the ghosts and his Fenton half is working the edges. I sweep up the ghosts he sends me into the thermos, while I tap into my PDA to see what Vlad's up to right now... It helps that the silly things scream all the way down. I don't even have to look up to suck them in. You totally owe me a Nasty Burger, Danny.

I know he's got everything under control, so I type away at my spy program. When we found out Vlad was using those ugly little spy robot bugs, I grabbed one. I dissected the nasty thing and rewired it to work for us. Now every time Danny takes one out in a fight, I reprogram it and send it right back at Mayor Masters. Only a couple so far, but they're really useful. I've even copied the schematics to eventually make a couple of my own spy bugs. Vlad's not the only one who can steal other people's tech. So far he hasn't noticed them spying on _him._ Or if he has, he doesn't realize that I've tampered with them. He still thinks they're his. I can't tell you how many of his monologues I've sifted through. It's very, very creepy.

I just finish a quick dump of all the recent recordings into my handheld. I'm queue up a live feed of what Vlad's up to right now, when Danny's parents show up. Boy, does their timing suck. Remember what I was saying about not being jealous anymore? Big reason standing right over there, ectocannons at the ready.

I'm safe and snug where I'm at, so I start watching my spy footage. I want to have a report ready for Sam and Danny after Danny's finished up. Am I worried about my friend falling to his death in front of his parents? Nope. Danny's not worried, why should I be? He can catch himself before he lands.

When Jack and Maddie begin shooting at the ghosts, I follow. I can take my time. Danny's still got it under control. He's already caught his other half and is flying back to the gym. Ah, see that? That was my idea. I told Danny weeks ago that he should carry around a fake gun to disguise any real ectoblasts he might have to make while he's human. In the meantime I'm working on some more fake accessories he can 'use' in human form. He can't exactly carry a gun into school, even if it is non-functioning and meant for ghosts. I've got an idea for these gloves with wiring… eh, maybe later. I make sure to suck in any ghost that gets tossed my way, but from here on out it's cake. I don't even have to think about it. Huh, and I didn't even need to fire my Fenton Utility Weapon. Gotta remember to have Danny swipe me a weapon that isn't so girly.

I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts and my surveillance that before I know it, the fight's over. Danny's up on the roof with his mom and up in the air looking over at himself with her. Maybe they've got some unspoken communication thing going too, because Maddie puts down her gun instead of shooting at his Phantom half. I make it to the gym door just in time to hear Jack say something about ordering pizza. It sounds good to me, but then I also hear the unmistakable stomping of an angry Goth girl. Maybe I'll just be turning myself right back around and waiting for whatever is left of Danny at his house. They'll be ordering the pizza from there anyway. Time to scoot.

* * *

A/N: The gloves and maybe some other mock-weaponry will be making an appearance in an upcoming story. I've just gotta get around to writing it. If you got this far, thank you for reading the same fight scene for the THIRD time. I promise not to do this again.

-S&S, what-happened-2-nice


	21. A World Turned Upside Down 24

Challenge topic #24: The World Turned Upside Down  
Character(s): DF, TF, SM, Mr. and Mrs. Manson, OC's  
Genre: Drama  
Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

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Grandma Ida's passing had hit the Manson family hard, but none of them suffered as much as Sam. Her appetite waned. She wore the unrelieved black of mourning, in styles much more modest than she was accustomed to. She rarely spoke. And she stopped smiling, even for Danny and Tucker. To anyone who knew her, it was perfectly understandable. Ida had been the shining light among Sam's family relations. She had been the one source of unconditional love and acceptance that every child craves, and she had supported Sam's choices without reservation. Sam's friends and parents were resolved to wait. They made sure that she knew that they were there for her. At any time. For anything she needed. And they gave her the space to grieve until she felt ready to come back to herself and to them.

At first it seemed she was starting to rebound, but then she faltered. She stopped going to school. She stopped talking altogether, wandering around the house like a ghost. Finally, she stopped eating and refused to leave her room or even her bed. Her parents, in a deep depression of their own, could think of nothing else to do. They had to seek professional help, despite the stigma that came with mental troubles in their social circles. As a last resort they conceded to her whispered request… the only words he had spoken in the last week.

"…please… Danny… Tuck."

If a visit on the part of her boys didn't work there was no other alternative. They could wait no longer. Samantha would be hospitalized that night.

They came over immediately after classes, backpacks still slung across their shoulders. In order to show respect for the family's mourning, they wore more formal clothing than their usual tees and jeans. Danny wore a polo shirt and slacks. Tucker wore a short sleeved button down and chinos, although he kept the red beret. Their shoes had never been introduced to the notion of 'tennis'. The outfits had brought them horrendous teasing at school, but it was worth it. It would be worth any amount of humiliation to get their Sam back.

The Mansons led the way up to Sam's room, relating her current state and what they planned. The boys followed, speaking in hushed tones. As they entered the upstairs hallway, Danny's ghost sense shivered past his lips. He and Tucker looked wide eyed at each other before Danny passed off his bag and shoved gently past the Mansons with a murmured 'excuse me'. He strode quickly to her door, pausing just outside with his hand on the knob, eyes closed. Frowning at his rude behavior, their expressions only deepened when Tucker dropped to his knees and upended both backpacks in the middle of the hallway.

"What do you think you…"

Danny interrupted. "This is bad. It feels like some kind of leech ghost. Very dark. What do we have, Tuck?"

Tucker rummaged through the pile of school books and ghost fighting equipment. "Not a whole lot. Not nearly as much as I'd like. I've got my thermos. It's the old one you used to carry, so it's all beat up. It still works, but has a very short range. I was going to try to fix it. I've got two Specter Deflectors, but only one of them has been upgraded with my new software patches. Here's a sheet of anti-ecto polymer I was playing with earlier; it's about 3 by 3 feet. I've got the Fenton Utility Weapon. Hah! I thought I saw this. Here's one of your mom's new plug-in ghost barriers. There's not much else. Other than that…" He flipped a quick glance at the rapidly angering Mansons. "Other than that I have these… umm… prototype gloves."

Tucker held up a pair of driving gloves. They were laced with a complex looking network of wires and electrical conduits.

"I told you I was working on these, right? The special hand-to-hand ghost fighting gloves I designed _just for you?"_He looked meaningfully at Danny as he stressed the words. He'd told his friends he would work out some alternative mock-weaponry for Danny to use in human form, but he hadn't had a chance to show them anything yet. He was only hoping Danny would get the message. Danny grimaced his understanding and was moving to take some of the equipment when Mr. Manson sputtered to indignant life.

"Tucker Foley! I would expect the Fenton boy to be spouting off this ghost nonsense, because of his family," he sneered the word. "But you! You should be asham…"

"Mr. Manson," Danny interrupted once more. He squared himself between his friend and the grieving parents, speaking in a clear, even voice that seemed to resonate in the hallway.

"I'm going to ask you to humor me. I know that you don't approve of me or my family, but you do have to admit our expertise. We don't have time to argue about this. There is something very bad in the room with Sam. I know that things have been hard for you since Miss Ida passed. She was a wonderful lady and a woman of great compassion. I'm going to miss her as much as I would my own grandma. But Sam… This depression she's been feeling is not natural. Whatever has got a hold of her has probably been affecting you, too. Have you been feeling more depressed than usual or maybe physically sick when you were near Sam? Has it been worse in the last few days since she stopped talking? Especially in her room?"

Mr. Manson stood there gaping while Mrs. Manson could only stutter. Although Danny was still almost a foot shorter than Mr. Manson, he suddenly seemed to tower over the both of them. "I… I don't…"

"Here. Tucker, hand me the modified belt? Mr. Manson, put this on." He helped the man to wrap the belt around his waist and Mr. Manson found himself obeying the boy's instruction without his conscious decision. "Does that feel better? If this ghost has been feeding on you too, you should be able to feel the difference right away."

"I… yes, that's… Oh my. What exactly is going on?" The usually composed socialite suddenly seemed like a lost little boy.

Danny started issuing orders as he pulled the gloves onto his hands. "Mr. Manson, Mrs. Manson. I'm going to need you to follow my instructions very closely. Mr. Manson, if you would hold your wife, the effect of the belt you're wearing will protect you both. We are all going to go into Sam's room. When we're inside I'm going to close the door and secure the room. I need you to guard this door. Do not let go of each other. Do not move from the doorway. Under no circumstances should you move or talk until Tucker or I give you the all clear. Tucker," He turned to his friend, picking up the strange plug-in device Tucker had pulled out. "You take the other Deflector, the thermos, and the lipstick blaster and guard the window. I'll plug the barrier in so the ghost can't escape through the walls. Once that's up I'll need you to blast it if it tries to make a break though the ceiling. I'll get it if it goes for the floor. As soon as I can, I'll grab whatever's in there and subdue it before handing it over to you to suck into the thermos, okay?"

Tucker nodded, "Yeah, I'm good. But can we call this blaster the F.U.W. or Utility Weapon or something? I don't feel right carrying around a blaster disguised as lipstick, no matter how powerful a punch it's got. Speaking of which…"

"Hmm. Good point. Not my first choice for a weapon to use indoors. Okay, only use it as a last resort. I'll cover both the ceiling and floor. You concentrate on the window and containing it when you get the chance." He held up a hand to forestall the protest he felt building in Mrs. Manson. "I promise I will pay for the replacement of anything that gets damaged. I'll do my best to avoid breaking anything in your home. And I _swear_," he looked directly into her eyes, "I'm not going to let _anything_ hurt Sam."

Somehow she couldn't find it in herself to doubt him as she usually would. She clung to her husband and they followed the boys numbly into the room.

Once inside, Tucker backed into the wall and edged cautiously around the bed were Sam was lying and over to the window. He made extra sure not to come into contact with Danny, since the unmodified belt would shock him even in human form. Danny positioned the Mansons at the door and plugged in the shield, explaining quietly, "This is something my mom invented recently. It plugs into a wall socket and uses the wiring of a room to make a kind of anti-ghost electric fence. _Don't move_ from the doorway, because it isn't wired. We don't want the ghost to get out of the room into the rest of your home." He shook out his hand to ease the pain from the shock the barrier gave him when he plugged it in.

Mrs. Manson raised a question from the shelter of her husband's arms. "Shouldn't we call professionals for this? Not your par… I mean to say, someone trained to handle this sort of thing?"

Danny reassured her. "Tucker and I _are_ trained, Mrs. Manson. Everything is under control."

"But, shouldn't we all at least put on some kind of armor or one of your parents' sil… er, unusual jumpsuits? For protection?"

Tucker answered the question as Danny approached the foot of the bed. "The Specter Deflector belts that Mr. Manson and I are wearing are a kind of electric-field armor. This thing won't be able to hurt or even really touch you. Now, like Danny told you earlier… Don't let go of each other, don't move from the door, and don't draw attention to yourselves by talking, okay? We'll take care of the rest. I'm ready, Danny. Let's get this over with."

Danny looked intently into the gloom that cloaked the head of Sam's bed. Fisting his gloved hands, he said, "Open up the curtains. I want to see how it handles sunlight."

Pushing the draperies open to their fullest extent, Tucker turned back to the bed. Despite the bright light, the shadows remained unchanged. If anything, they grew deeper. The room grew colder. Danny's frown as he glared was as dark as the amorphous shade on the headboard. He growled in a tone so low that it raised the hairs on the necks of his audience. "We know you're there. Show yourself."

The shadows shifted, pulling in on themselves. And then they opened their glowing red eyes. All sixteen of them. The Mansons gasped.

"Umm, Danny? Please tell me that's more than one ghost. That's way creepy."

"Yeah, looks like at least eight of them. Here we go." He lit up his hands. "Any of you smart enough to manage speech? I have some questions I want to ask you." One of the shadow leeches, slightly bigger than the others, gurgled a snarling response. None of the humans in the room understood what it had said, but it sounded rude. Danny smiled a very frightening smile. "Ah, thank you for volunteering."

He lunged forward, grabbing the bigger ghost and pulling it away from the others. Extinguishing the green glow on his left hand, he let the energies he held shift to an arctic blue. The leech screeched in a piercing wail as it was encased in a block of ice. Danny slid the frozen specter to Tucker. "Plastic wrap this one for later. I'm gonna want to have a talk with it. The rest of them can go in the thermos." Then he grunted as the rest of the ghosts charged him, knocking him to the ground. They rolled around on the carpet, thrashing. The leeches tried to get a 'hold' on Danny's emotions while he pounded away at them with charged fists. Danny fought his way to his knees, getting a firm grip on one of the ghosts. He tossed it to Tucker, shouting, "Pull!" Very upset with this, the next largest ghost growled and wrapped itself around Danny's face while another four took a limb each. Danny tumbled to the floor again with a muffled 'whoop'.

The remaining ghost was about to join its comrades when it noticed Tucker sucking the ghost Danny had tossed him into the thermos. Recognizing this threat, it charged Tucker, trying to knock the thermos from his hands. Unable to swing the beam around in time to pull it in, he settled on keeping the device out of its reach. Turning away slightly, he managed to catch the ghost on his shoulder, letting it get shocked by his belt as it knocked him into the window frame. It screamed and retreated, starting to bounce off the ecto-proofed walls as it tried to escape.

Meanwhile, Danny was having problems throwing off the ghosts that were grappling with him. They hissed and writhed in pain as he pulled at them with his charged hands, but they refused to let him go. He was getting a bit desperate for air at this point, so he called his ice powers into his aching fingers again. Concentrating the energies on his fingertips, he grew icy talons that he filled with his green ecto-energy. Digging these claws into the ghost on his face, he finally managed to peel it off. It shrieked in pain. He tossed it towards Tucker and repeated the process on the others. Abandoning their holds, the remaining ghosts tried to make their escape, flying wildly around the room. At least one tried to make a break for the door. The Mansons yelled in alarm. Danny called to them, "They can't hurt you! Don't move!"

A tossed low-power energy blast wasn't enough to stop one of the ghosts from making a try at the ceiling. He sighed in relief when the spook bounced off. Obviously the room's lighting was tied into the same circuit that the barrier was plugged into. They couldn't go up. Danny moved next to the bed to bat the panicked specters away from Sam and towards Tucker's thermos. Finally they were all contained. He pulled off the gloves and showed Tucker fingers that were exhibiting a light case of frostbite. "I did more damage to myself than they did. Cold energy isn't so bad, but I can't use full out ice when I'm…" He glanced at the Mansons where they were still huddled at the door. "…when I'm using the gloves _like this._ I'll need more practice with these. Mr. and Mrs. Manson? It's okay now. They're all gone, you can relax." They didn't move. Danny looked at Tucker and shrugged. Tucker nodded.

"They're in shock. I'll go soothe them with some Foley Charm, while you take care of Sam." Tucker walked over to the doorway. He smiled winningly at the couple and pried their white knuckled grip on each other apart. Grabbing one hand of each in his own, he gave them a firm handshake and told them, "Congratulations on your first successful ghost hunt. You did really well. Let's go see how Sam's doing, okay?" He pulled them away from the door as the household servants pounded at the entrance, demanding to know what was wrong. He opened the door and began his explanations of what exactly those ghosts were and what they'd been doing while he pulled the Mansons towards the bed.

Danny ignored them all as he knelt beside Sam. He shook her gently. "Sam? Wake up now."

He persisted until he got a response. She moaned a little and cracked her eyes. He started to roll her onto her side to face him when her eyes rolled back into her head and she lurched forward, vomiting on his shirt. "Oh gross, Sam! I didn't think it was possible, but I'm actually _glad_ you haven't been eating. Eew." He sighed and pulled the shirt off over his head, gently using the clean parts to wipe the sick from her chin. He looked up at Tucker and the others when Tucker cleared his throat.

"I don't know what to tell you, man. The Foley Charm has never failed me before." He waved at the still shell-shocked Mansons. "I think our best bet now is just to keep them moving until they've had a chance to process all this. Oh, and I found this." He held up the shattered remains of Sam's cell phone. "It looks like she might have tried to call for help when she realized what was happening. I can't find her thermos anywhere. One of those ghosts tried to get mine away from me during the fight. They probably took hers, too."

Danny nodded. "Okay, I'll look for it when we're done. Mr. and Mrs. Manson? I'm sorry about this. I should have come to check on her when she started getting worse. I just thought she needed some time. These things weren't around during the k'vurah or when I came over to pay my respects during your week of shivah, but I should never have let them get anywhere close to her at all."

"It's not your fault, man."

"Feels like my fault, Tuck. We're going to have to give Sam somewhere else safe to rest for a while. I'm sorry to ask this, but has Miss Ida's room been changed at all? I think Sam would be most comfortable around her grandma's things since she can't stay in here right now."

When the Mansons didn't answer, their maid stepped forward. "We've only laundered the bedding and kept the room aired out. No one has really felt comfortable making any changes so soon."

Danny smiled at her. "Thanks, Allison. Can you grab Sam a clean nightgown and robe? She's waking up a little, but it might help if you and Mrs. Manson give her a bath. She'll feel better if she's clean. Use Miss Ida's bathroom." He lifted Sam from the bed and handed her off to the butler to carry. "You might need to give Mrs. Manson a little push. Now, Mr. Manson. Sam isn't under the ghosts' influence any more, but I still think you should call Rabbi Mayersohn to perform an exorcism. Explain to him that Sam was possessed by an evil... um... sheydim dybbuk. I spoke with him after the k'vurah, so I know he's familiar enough with the Kabbalah to do the ceremony for the both of you and Sam. I don't know if there's something he can do for the house, but it wouldn't hurt to ask him."

He paused when they managed to somehow look even more shocked. "What? Did I mispronounce something?"

Mr. Manson numbly shook his head. "No, but how do you…? When did you learn…?"

Danny smiled his shy smile at the both of them. "The ghost info is a part of being a Fenton. I can't be one without knowing at least a little about ghosts in different cultures."

Tucker chimed in, "And the Torah is pretty much the same as the Old Testament. Ghosts are mentioned everywhere in there. It's a weird coincidence, but one of the first mentions of an evil possession is in the Book of _Samuel_, 18:01."

Danny continued, "As for the words I used, Sam ו - סבתא Ida למדתי קצת עברית. (Sam and Grandma Ida have taught me a little Hebrew.) I'm still working on it, but I've got a basic understanding. Now, even with the ghosts gone, I think that the rabbi's services would help you all."

Mrs. Manson lingered in the room long enough to venture her opinion. "Samantha hasn't been to Temple in almost two years."

Danny just nodded. "I know, but just because she doesn't observe doesn't mean she's not faithful. Tuck and I both saw how much your rabbi's words comforted her at the funeral." He turned back to Mr. Manson. "Can I…"

"May I." Tucker corrected in a stage whisper. Danny made a face at him.

"May I borrow a shirt while you make your call? I don't have a spare with me. When you're done we can join the ladies in Miss Ida's room." Mr. Manson jolted, but agreed, leading Danny to his room. Tucker stayed behind, chatting with the cook while he stuffed their things and one plastic wrapped ghost-cicle back into their bags.

A short while later, they all arrived in Ida's room. Tucker came in with a small tray of beverages he'd arranged with the chef. "Hot cocoa for me and Danny, extra dark chocolate double mochachinos for the Mansons, and a sports drink for Sam, so she can get her electrolytes back in balance. Just the pick-me-up we all need right now."

Mr. Manson was sitting stiffly in an armchair, while his wife sat on the arm, hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Danny tucked Sam beneath the blankets and sat on one side of the bed while Tucker took the other, sandwiching her between them. She was aware enough to take a death grip on each of their hands. They took turns prodding her.

"Wake up, Sam."

"Wake up! It's not like you to be the damsel in distress."

She frowned and turned her face into Danny's shoulder. " 'm not."

"Yes, you are! You're being all cute and pathetic," Tucker teased.

She grumbled and swung a weak blow at him. He laughed at her as he caught it. "Too slow."

"You _have_ to wake up now, Sam. You aren't being yourself and neither are your parents." Danny leaned forward a little to pretend to whisper in her ear. "They're actually tolerating me! In their house. In bed. With _you_! This whole situation is freaking me out." She snorted and cracked her eyes.

"Danny? Why do you smell like my father?" she mumbled.

"I had to borrow one of his shirts because you threw up on me."

"Did not."

"Yeah, you did. You're just lucky I didn't like the shirt I was wearing."

"So wrong." She protested.

Tucker agreed, pulling at her arm. "That's what we've been saying. You're being all feeble, your parents aren't calling the police on Danny; everything is all upside down and backwards! We're in Bizarro world!"

"Tucker, we've had the talk about making comic book references in everyday conversation." Danny joked. Sam coughed a chuckle and managed to sit up a bit against the headboard with their help.

Mr. Manson broke the silence from where he sat in the corner, watching them interact. "Jeremy."

Danny blinked at him, confused. "Pardon?"

"You may call me Jeremy. My wife prefers to be called Pamela rather than Pam." Mrs. Manson looked startled by his statement, but nodded her agreement.

Sam blinked owlishly at her parents. "I'm still dreaming."

Tucker pinched her side gently, making her squeal a little. "If you are, we all are. Told you."

Danny nudged them both into silence and looked back to… Jeremy. "Thank you. I appreciate this."

Then they all turned to the door as the butler knocked and announced the arrival of Rabbi Mayersohn.

* * *

A/N: I really don't like fics that make Sam the damsel in distress, but I couldn't think of any other way to get the Mansons to even consider being nice to Danny, let alone to listen to and obey his orders. What can I say? I caved. At least it gave me something appropriate to write for a world that was upside down. Most of the info on Dybbuk's was from an article on ghostvillage dot com by Jeff Belanger. A K'vurah is a Jewish burial. A Shivah is the 7 day mourning period after a k'vurah. And the Hebrew I used here has English syntax and grammar, because I stink with other languages and used an online translator to go word by word. It's also a right to left language, so what I've got here actually reads like "Sam and Grandmother Ida Hebrew little a taught me have" If you know the proper way to say this, or if I've misrepresented something in the folklore just let me know and I'll fix it.


	22. Haunt 68

Challenge topic #68: Haunt  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Sam Manson  
Genre: Friendship/ Romance  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

She was always so peaceful when she worked in her garden. It seemed to ground her (no pun intended). And even though it would be perfectly reasonable to expect the trauma of her encounter with Undergrowth to drive her away from her greenhouse, it hadn't. If anything, the experience brought out the Earth Mother in her even more strongly than before. He was still trying to reconcile the ideas of Earth Mother and Goth in his head, but until then he would work on his marvelous idea. He needed to do this for her. He needed to do it even more for himself, to temper the guilt he felt for not being there the _second_ she needed him. He had to conspire with her strangely amicable parents to set aside funds for his plan and to buy the empty lot behind their home and securely fence it in so that it was part of their property parcel. He had to contact contractors and the city building inspector. He had to consult experts and a reference book thicker than the phone directory. He had to perform superhuman feats that were almost beyond even him in order to get the project completed before she returned. But it was done and it was perfect. Just in time.

He greeted the car when it pulled up to the curb in front of her house. "Hey, Sam. Welcome home."

She grabbed him in a tight hug as he stood up from the front steps. "Thanks, Danny. It's good to finally get back. I'm starting to rethink my boycott on the Chicago O'Hare airport. You would not believe how many connections I had to make to get around having to set foot in their terminals."

Sam turned to grab her bags, but they were already gone. She faced the door again just in time to see the driver and the rest of the staff quietly whisking her things inside. She called after them, "I could have carried them in myself, you know!" Turning to Danny with a frown, she continued, "I'm so sick of everyone treating me like some fragile, helpless little china doll. I'm _fine._"

"We know," he chuckled, tugging at her hand. "They just want to help. Besides, your folks pay all these people to wait on your family hand and foot. You should kick back and let them pamper you for a while. You get to be lazy and they get to feel like they're earning their wages. Everybody wins!"

"You're so weird, Danny."

"Yup. Now that you're here, though, c'mon. Let's go to your room. I want to show you something." He pulled her inside. As soon as they were in the house Danny was accosted by a squealing tornado of tea-cup sized canine ecstasy. "Hey, Lola! How's my Little Rat? Who's my sweetie? Huh?"

Sam allowed herself a sneer, but otherwise ignored their byplay. "Fine. I want to change out of my travel clothes anyway. Where's Tucker?"

"Oh, he says 'hi', but he couldn't come over today because he's been grounded until the end of time."

"Ha. What did he do this time?"

"Mrs. Foley wouldn't let me actually talk to him, but she mentioned something about catching him online in the middle of the night for the eighth time this week."

"But it's only Thursday."

"Exactly," he nodded.

"Ooooh. Poor Tucker. We'll have to ask for the grisly details at school tomorrow." Sam started to head upstairs, but stumbled a little when Danny kept walking down the hall towards the back of the house.

"You're starting back right away? Sweet. Class has been boring without you." She used his hold on her hand to stop their progress.

"Where are you going, Danny?"

"To your room. I told you, there's something I want to show you."

"My bedroom is this way." Sam pointed upstairs.

He nodded. "Yes it is."

"So why are you going _that _way?"

Danny smiled mischievously at her, "It's a surprise. You'll see."

She regarded him skeptically with a twisted little smile of her own. Finally, she capitulated. She'd humor the crazy boy for now. "Okay."

He led her to the back of the house, past the formal sitting and dining rooms. They passed the kitchen and the back stairs and exited out the back door. At least it _had been_ the back door. Now it opened into another hallway. Immediately to their left was the new door to the backyard. She could see a curving path to her greenhouse and the small tree-shaded outdoor eating area. Ahead of them, down an airy hallway lined with windows and the occasional potted plant stood a large Spanish style door that blocked any view of what might lay beyond. Fancy iron work swirled across the heavy oak panel.

"This is new."

"Brand new." He paused long enough to nudge the Chihuahua out the side door and into the backyard. "Sorry, Lola. No dogs allowed."

They kept walking down the hallway. Glancing out a window Sam noticed they'd already passed all the outbuildings. This hallway was longer than she'd realized. "We're over the property line."

"Not the new one," he reassured her. She raised her eyebrows at him and moved a little faster towards the door. Danny opened it for her with a showman's flourish, "After you. On your right you'll find a workshop and storage area." Sam glanced into the open archway. "Through the door on your left is what your mom swears to me is a 'modestly sized' three-quarter bath, closet and changing area. I'm not sure I believe her. And through this door…" Danny pulled her forward to a glass door shaded on the far side by soft looking roman blinds. "… is your new room."

Sam stood there in absolute, open-mouthed shock as she took in the sight before her. Danny had to give her a little shove between the shoulder blades to get her inside. Tall narrow windows lined the three remaining walls, baffled with privacy screens that diffused the light into a soft, warm glow. Overhead, exposed rafters opened up into three frosted glass skylights on either side of the ridge beam. Each one was covered with a swaged shade that had been retracted about halfway. On the right hand wall was a rattan daybed with deep green cushions and bedding. On the left wall was a small seating area in earth tones: loveseat, two armchairs, and a low glass table. And everywhere, _everywhere _were plants. They were hanging from the rafters. They grew in scattered pots on the shelves and floor. They were planted in the earth itself. Even the flooring itself was alive, a sea of green between islands of slate where the furniture sat. Pleasantly cool, humid air scented with flowers caressed them.

Danny nudged her. "You like it?" Her mouth worked without sound for a moment, but she managed a weak nod. "Good. I was getting a little worried there for a sec. You've got just about every shade plant known to man in here. I can't pronounce the names to any of them, but there's a list around here somewhere. Most of the plants are already on an automatic irrigation system that's controlled by this switchboard, along with the lights and shades. There's a remote over on the bed that you can work the lights and blinds with, too. So you don't have to get up. You've got an after dinner appointment with the nice lady from the garden center to show you how to work everything and to point out which plants need to be hand watered or whatever. Which reminds me." He pointed at the groundcover. "That stuff I can pronounce. It's a mix of traffic resistant 'blue star creeper' and Irish moss, so you'll be able to walk on it, but not for the next couple of weeks until it's 'established'. Remember to stick to the stepping stones until then. They only finished laying it this morning. Last thing to be put in."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Danny, you did all this? I've only been gone two weeks."

He shook his head right back at her. "No. Julie the architect, and Gus the contractor, and Mike and Cassandra the horticulturists, and Don the plumber, and Ryan the electrician, and about 50 other people did this. I just came up with the idea." Danny's hand snuck up to rub at the back of his neck. "Kind of. Your parents took my original plan for a nice little shady room with some flowers and a daybed where you could nap or meditate or whatever and turned it into this." He made a face to indicate his helplessness before their 'more money than they know what to do with' attitude.

"On the plus side, this is completely insulated and weatherproof, so you can sleep out here year round if you want. Or you can sleep inside in your _bed_room. Most of your stuff and all of your electronics are still inside the house in your original room. Nothing in there has been changed at all, since I didn't know if you'd really want to sleep out here or stay in there. And you can't keep much out here when everything is always so _damp._ The fabrics and furniture are mildew resistant, but we decided not to go crazy with it. Or crazier, anyway," he amended.

Sam moved over to the daybed to sit, taking in everything around her. "It's wonderful, Danny. Thank you." He sat down beside her and sneezed. "_Gesundheit_. Oh no, are you allergic to something in here?"

"Just those." He waved at a pile of unplanted flowering bushes on the far side of the bed. Their root balls were still wrapped in wet burlap. "They were the second to last things to be brought in. Took me forever to find them. I wasn't sure they'd make it here before you came home."

The color drained from her face. "Danny? Those are blood blossoms. I thought they were extinct! You can't be in here with those!"

His face took on a stiff, carefully blank expression and she began to realize the real reason he'd done this all for her. "Almost extinct. They're gone from Salem, Mass. and most of the northeast US, but I found a farm just this side of Niagara that had some growing wild in the woods. They were willing to send them to me. There's enough here to cover the whole room, but I didn't have time to get them planted yet. You need to get them in pots or the ground still."

Sam grabbed at his arm, concerned, "They aren't hurting you?"

"No. I'm fine in human form, just like Vlad was when he… introduced me to these things. Being close to them makes me just a little drowsy. Smelling them makes me a little congested. I can hold them and feel just a mild tingle, unless they're in my hands too long. Then it'll start to sting. I can't touch the seeds without getting a rash, but I don't see why I'd ever have to handle those." He showed her some fading irritation on his left hand. "I'm not brave enough to eat some just to see what would happen, but again, what's the point? I won't be able to come in here when I'm a ghost, but no other ghosts will either. A haunt free haunt of your very own." Danny made the last statement with grim finality.

She crushed him in a breathless hug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Like I said, it was just my idea. Everyone else did all the work. Just don't tell my folks about the blood blossoms. Last thing I need is for mom to start growing them in the garden or trying to sneak some of the flowers into her casserole." He joked to play off the serious mood. "Now let's go back in the house so you can properly thank your parents for blowing your entire inheritance on this place."

She chuckled a little and let him lead her away.

* * *

A/N: Chihuahua sneak-attack cameo appearance! This story is meant to be a companion piece to the one-shot 'The World Turned Upside Down' so Danny can make up for his guilt at not being there for Sam by giving her a ghost-free safe haven where she could do her garden thing. But really it can take place anytime in the series after 'Urban Jungle.' (and my 'Pet' oneshot.)


	23. Spots and Dots 14

Challenge topic #47: Spots and Dots  
Character(s): Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

Jazz paced the floor, wringing her hands. Danny was late. She glanced over at her bed where her scrapbook lay open, but she couldn't stand to look at it any longer. She tried to settle at her desk to do some homework, but she couldn't concentrate. Reading a book presented the same problem. She briefly considered going downstairs for something to eat, but her stomach was twisting on itself and she wasn't prepared to leave the room. She didn't want to take the chance of missing him when he slipped inside.

Left with no other options, Jazz resumed her pacing. She vaguely wondered how many turns around the room it would take to actually wear a hole in the carpet. Danny finally phased through the window an unbearable amount time later, bag in hand.

"Danny! What the heck took you so long! Did they have it? Did you get it? Give it to me!" She snatched the bag greedily from his hand and peered inside.

He frowned at her and said in a mocking voice, "Danny! I'm so glad you made it back safely. Thank you so much, my bestest brother ever, for flying all the way to Dimmsdale in the middle of the night. Only you could go to the all-night craft store to buy me my ridiculously overpriced set of rubber stamps to use on my precious scrapbook. I'm so glad no one gave you grief about being an underage kid out after curfew." He continued in his normal voice. "I had to tell them that I was eighteen, but had a growth problem. Do you realize how embarrassing that is?"

"I do appreciate it, Danny. Thank you. The 'Spots and Dots' stamp set is perfect to frame the page of my scrapbook where I'm featuring the picture of you soaking wet in the town fountain because Ghost X knocked you out of the sky. See? I wan't to use this open patterned one for the page border, and this smaller one here with the closed pattern for around each photo. I haven't been able to think of anything else since I found the set in my catalog." She hugged the box set to her chest and squealed a little bit, jumping up and down.

"I ought to make sure that picture disappears," he grumbled. He threw his hands up in self defense when she speared him with a vicious glare. "Okay, okay. Won't touch the book. Chill out. Why couldn't you just go buy this yourself in the morning?"

"I have to finish this tonight because I've scheduled the rest of the week for my two term papers and studying for midterms. Now, where are the ink pads?" She looked into the bag. It was empty except for the reciept.

"Um. What ink pads?"

"You didn't get them." Her tone was flat.

"You didn't say anything about ink pads. You said 'Spots and Dots'. You said right away. So I went and got your stupid stamps." He snapped his mouth shut when he felt the room take on a chill that had nothing to do with his ice powers. She took three deep breaths before turning to the notepad on her desk.

She scribed the list with bold, emphatic strokes as she spoke. "Script-logic brand ink pads. Colors 11, 41, 50, and metallic number 7. Now. The ink I have clashes with the color of the page." When she finished, she smacked it hard into his chest and shoved him towards the window. An uncharitable person might say it was more of a punch than a smack. But Jazz loved her little brother. Yes, she did. Almost as much as she loved scrapbooking. She would never hurt him...

He grumbled to himself, but was careful not to say anything out loud as he flew out into the night to get the rest of her order. Bad enough his math had letters in it. Now colors had been replaced with numbers. It was best to humor her. The look on her face when he left was scarier than most of the ghosts he fought. He thought as he flew, all the Fentons had some kind of obsession or obsessions, not necessarily ghost related . One of Jazz's was stamping and scrapbooking. He shook his head. Budding psychology genius or not, that girl was crazy.

* * *

A/N: I've been killing my poor fingers and losing sleep by typing these long fics, so the next few are going to be pretty short. If I can manage it. We'll see. And scrapbookers and their cousins, the stampers, are all cracked in the cranium. Don't try to deny. I've met enough of each to know. Y'all are nuts. 'Spots and Dots' is an actual stamp set i found when I Googled the term because I couldn't think of what to write for this topic. Nuts.


	24. Manners 90

Challenge topic #90: Manners  
Character(s): Sam Manson  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

I hate them. I have to make a conscious effort to avoid them. They have dug in, so deeply into my body and mind that I don't always realize I'm acting with them.

Despite my kohl lined eyes and heavy mascara, I follow them. Despite my dark choices in clothing and my sarcastic tone, I obey them. I am ultra-recyclo-vegetarian, Goth rebel, and outspoken, independent youth, but still I cave to the norm.

I just can't shake these good manners.

It's ridiculous!

Slang comes very slowly to me. I can't curse under any circumstances. I tried once and nearly swallowed my tongue. I don't care to try again. My attempts at disrespecting my elders are sorry at best. Have you heard me try to sass-talk Mr. Lancer? The stumbling and forced pitch of my speech was not because I was faltering for words. Honestly, I could barely force them from my mouth. My good grades are largely due to the fact that I can't _not _pay attention when an adult is speaking to me, be it teacher, rabbi, or heaven help me, parent. The closest I can come to a disrespectful attitude is my profound sarcasm. I use it almost every time I speak, but I have a sneaking suspicion about my acerbic skills. To truly excel at sarcasm, you have to have a fairly high degree of intelligence and a good understanding of irony. I'm trying to be rude, but I think I'm also showing good breeding.

I have never belched in public. My voice and laughter are almost always moderated and _never_ shrill. I don't scratch or pick anything. I am always well groomed. My teeth are perfect and model-quality white, even though I choose to show them only in a sneer.

When I'm not paying attention, I use my "please" and "thank you"s. When I'm the recipient, I can't help but murmur a polite, "you're welcome". The question 'huh?' has never crossed by lips, unless I'm explaining about my inability to say it. I make formal introductions. I can't resort to nicknames with anyone but my two best friends. I still call their parents by Mr. and Mrs., despite their encouragement to use more familiar terms. I hold doors for anyone following close behind me as if my hands were magnetized to the handles. I can't slouch. With effort, I might be able to place my elbows on the table or cross my arms across my chest to lean 'casually' against the wall. I have to remind myself to do these things.

If I weren't going to a public high school full of shallow, superficial posers who can't see beyond the surface of things I'd have been found out a long time ago. If my two friends weren't such honest, kind boys, they'd have caught me out well before I told them of my family's wealth. I can try to hide it behind all the layers of personality and all the causes and even the gloom and doom of my Gothic preferences, but I can't escape it. I am a proper young _lady_ of the upper class. Darn it.

* * *

A/N: personal-challenge: ≥500 words.


	25. Tag 58

Challenge topic #58: Tag  
Character(s): Maddie Fenton, Danny Fenton  
Genre: Family  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

I smile to myself when I finally hear the crashing noises on the stairs. Just on time, I think, setting a plate full of pancakes and sliced fruit at his place at the table. From the sound of it he hasn't missed more than the last couple of steps on the way down. I'm sure that if he were able to form actual words this early in the morning, he'd be using some language that I don't approve of. Instead, all I get out of him as he comes into the kitchen is an indistinct grumbling sound. It might be a 'good morning', but who can tell?

I ruffle his hair as he stumbles past me to fall into his chair. Then I lean back against the counter, watching him eat while I sip my coffee. He's slumped over the plate, leaning hard on one elbow while maneuvering the food into his mouth with his other hand. I never have figured out how he manages to clean his plate so thoroughly when he never opens his eyes. One of the small mysteries of my life, I suppose. He probably gets it from his father. I put my mug down long enough to slide a glass of milk into the path of his groping hand. He never remembers to pour it before he sits down. The milk is gone in a guzzled flash and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. I can only sigh. I've pretty much given up on the idea of table manners for the first meal of his day. Especially since I'm not one hundred percent sure that he's even awake. Mobile? Yes. Conscious? Undetermined.

He stands from his chair, stretching his arms up towards the ceiling with a mighty yawn. I can't help but join him. At least yawning keeps me from laughing at the belly button that peeks at me from under the raised hem of his t-shirt. He finally cracks his eyes and blinks at me, as if surprised to see that I'm here. I return his bemused smile. He heads out into the living room while I gather up his dishes. As soon as they're in the sink, I follow him to the door.

He's already grabbed his backpack from the foot of the stairs and is moving for the front door to head off to school. I guess he still hasn't noticed, then. Moving to intercept him, I stop him before he manages to turn the knob. Taking the bag from his hand, I grasp him firmly by the shoulders to pull him around to face me. Ignoring his confusion, I pull his shirt off, flip it right-side out, and drop it over his head again. He tugs it down into place with a look of pained embarrassment as I smooth my hand past his neck to tuck the tag inside his collar. The noise he makes as he kisses my cheek is more of a mumble than the earlier grumble, but I'm reasonably sure it translates to 'goodbye, Mom,' so I squeeze his hand when I pass him back his backpack.

I watch him all the way to the turn at the end of the block before I close the door. It's time to head on down to the lab to start _my_ day. On the way down the stairs I smile to myself.

I love my boy.


	26. Oops 55

Challenge topic #55: Oops  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Sam Manson  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: T for some suggestive language

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

"Get up, Danny. Get up. Get up get up getupgetupgetup!"

He pulled the pillow over his head. "No. Sleeping."

"Uh huh, no sleeping. _You_," Sam emphasized, "are getting up now. You wanted me to help you get in better shape and that's what I'm going to do. We are going jogging. Right now." She had no mercy.

He cast a groggy eye towards his alarm clock. "It's 6:30 in the morning. On a Saturday. I should be sleeping. Come back later."

"Exercising in the morning is better because it's still cool out and it gives you energy through the rest of the day. Get into your workout clothes so we can get a move on. Jogging!" She sang the last word.

"Death march!" He sang back, mocking her. He gave up, ripping loose with a huge yawn as he sat up in bed. "I suppose it won't make a difference if I told you I was up all night ghost fighting?"

"Nope. I'll give you five minutes to get ready while I ask your mom to have a nice healthy breakfast ready for you when we get back. If you take longer than that, I will play you Tucker's greatest a cappella hits until your ears bleed."

"I'm up! I'm up!"

"Good. I'll meet you out front. We'll warm up and then run to the park. That's just about one and a half miles. I'll decide then how much more you're good for."

He grumbled, but complied. Outside they ran through a simple warm up routine before heading out. Sam kept up a conversation with him the whole time, knowing that if he couldn't talk then he was pushing himself too hard. He was keeping up with her conversation okay, but his pace was seriously lagging. She smirked evilly as she decided to play dirty. Turning to run backwards, she taunted him, "C'mon slowpoke. The snails are lapping us." He frowned at her. Doing this never failed to rile him up. He ran better when she teased. "You've been slacking, so now you get to sprint the last two blocks. Come and catch me!"

Danny rushed to match her pace. He knew if he actually managed to catch her, she'd take it easy on him the rest of the morning. But each time he was about to grab her, she jumped ahead, dodging his grasp. They were almost to the park when he exploded. "Argh! You suck!"

She glanced back at him from where she ran, just out of reach. "That is a vile rumor. I deny it emphatically."

It took him a moment to process what she was implying, but when it sank in... the words froze his brain. Wearing a look of inexpressible shock, he stopped pumping his legs. Unfortunately, the rest of his body was still moving at full speed. He crashed face first into the sidewalk so hard that he actually skidded a few inches.

"Danny! Are you okay?" She turned back to drop down beside him. Danny groaned and rolled onto his back. He was bleeding sluggishly from scrapes on his chin and palms.

"That was mean, Sam."

She laughed at him. "Oops."

She helped him to his feet. "I'm sorry, Danny. To make it up to you we can head back to your house at a jog/ walk to cool down. Then we'll call it a day so I can patch you up."

He snorted, "I'm going back to bed."

Sam smiled sweetly. "You go ahead and do that, Danny. I want you nice and rested when we try this again tomorrow morning."

He just couldn't win. With Sam as his 'fitness buddy', he'd either get in shape or die trying.


	27. Graduation 79

Challenge topic #79: Graduation  
Character(s): Sam Manson, Danny Fenton  
Genre: Romance  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or the Flintstones.  
BEWARE fluff ahead. SAM speech / _DANNY speech_

_

* * *

_

He's sweet. I like how he's unintentionally funny when he's just being himself and so completely lame when he's trying to be funny. In a good way, honest. Best of all, he doesn't judge me. Everyone else in school, including his best friend, is afraid to even look me in the eyes just because I'm a little dark. He was shy, but willing to talk to me. He listens. It's good to have a friend.

_Ugh. When will this class end? Glorified babysitting. How is knowing about death by disease on the Oregon Trail ever going to affect MY life? 30 minutes to 'Dead Teacher II', just 30 minutes. I wonder if I can get her to go, too. We can all go and forget this day of humiliation and boredom. Until tomorrow, anyway. _

Ever had one of those moments? Going along in your life with no specific destination in mind and then just WHAM! I had that happen to me today. I mean, yeah, I've always been aware he's cute and all. He hasn't hit his growth yet, but you can see the potential. And then, so cliché… I looked at him as we were laughing at some stupid joke, looked him right in the eyes, and I thought, 'wow'. I'm probably never going to admit this to anyone. I'll never confide in a diary. But the dominoes are tumbling in a twisting path through my mind, *tick* those eyes, *tick* his smile, *tick* his laugh, *tick* the way he bumps my shoulder when he's about to try to cheer me up after a bad day, *tick* *tick* *tickticktick*. It's cascading. I'm going over a mental list of all those little things and I know. I want more.

_Flintstones, meet the Flintstones. They're your modern Stone Age Fam-i-leee. Man. I hate being short. Dad's like six and a half feet and mom's above average. Why do I need a step stool to reach anything above countertop level? At least my friends are down here with me. We can form our own lollypop guild. How old do I have to be before I can suggest looking into growth hormones?_

I just wish I could turn off my brain sometimes. Or at least my hormones. Every day there's something else I notice about him and it feels just as unnerving as it does energizing. I've actually been sneaking some of my mom's magazines looking for ways to kill a crush. He's my best friend. We're kids. Yet there's still that nagging whisper just out of hearing that's saying I want him to feel this way too. He likes me, but I want HIM to have one of those WHAM moments. Being just one of the guys is really starting to chafe.

_I am officially the punching bag of the UNIVERSE. Come on. Who wants a shot?_

So pathetic. So very, very, bubble-gum and kittens, pink hearts and daisies, cookie cutter predictable. If I weren't in such an emotional freefall, I'd kill myself. But then, that would be just as predictable in a sellout, wannabe, Emo way. Can't go undercutting my Goth cred. At least puking would be a valid response, since I'm feeling so queasy. And now I'm angry with the emotional rollercoaster analogy that's just run through my head. Yes. I'm going to go with angry. I can be Angry Goth and not have to withstand any more scrutiny than I already get. No one will see anything different here and come digging into my privacy. I can even be angry at myself. Because I thought I liked my best friend. A nice safe puppy dog crush that would fade as fast as it started. But now… Oh no. I think I'm…

_She's being all grumpy. Maybe it's a girl thing. I'd ask about the time of the month and all that, but I'm not sure I really want details. Besides, she'd probably hit me. Those little fists are all knuckle bones and they hurt. Not going there. Maybe I can get on her good side with some chocolate and by losing some video games. Worth a try._

Is it me? Is it just that I've been a friend so now he can't see anything else? I refuse to change for him. I've fought too hard to be who I am. I only wore pink for him once and only because it was an emergency. I'm not doing it again. And here I have to pause. Should I be pleased that he finally managed to see that I am indeed a girl or should I be totally pissed because it took memory loss and fluffy pink cashmere? I'm leaning towards pissed. He's so lucky we were in a 'save the day' scenario or I would have totally kicked his butt for that one. We're too close for him to actually see me, I guess. I refuse to make the first move. Even when he looks at the other girls. Even when he starts dating other girls. Anger isn't cutting it for me anymore, and I'm sure that EVERYONE can see now how I'm feeling. Everyone except him. I'm in too deep. Anger doesn't work. Doubt and jealousy are dirty emotions. I'm better than that. Most of the time. So I'm going to wait. Maybe he'll come around. The whisper is back and it's mocking me… '…and maybe pigs will fly.'

_Bachelorette number one: hot, but shallow. Can't see me past her own ego or how useful I might be towards getting what SHE wants. Bachelorette number two: hot, smart, athletic and actually into me. Too bad she wants to kill me. Who's up next?_

God help me, but I'm running out of patience. And as a result I'm running to self-help books. Never have I been so glad of that closet full of 'clothes she would never wear' and my local Halloween wig supplier. I'm anonymous. I'm not going to make the first move, but I can clear away the obstacles between us. I have a list, you see.

_So broke. I wonder if she'll trade a favor for a Nasty burger. Maybe if I share my fries?_

Article one says I need to cultivate his desire to protect. I will never be helpless, but I can let him know I'm comfortable enough around him to let him see my weak spots. I went to him when my scooter broke down instead of to the mechanic. And what do you know, he fixed it. Guess having inventor parents is good for something after all. I make a point letting him know I value his opinion, even when I don't agree with it. I kept his shirt after that thing with Amorpho and I make a point of sleeping in it. The first time he saw me wear it, checking in for first-aid after a fight, he got this weird look. But he was looking. Come on, I know you can do it.

_Who knew being handy would come in so handy? I wonder if I can break stuff on the sly just to get more fast food deliciousness. Wait. Why is she wearing my shirt? It's MY shirt, doesn't she have enough of her own? I mean, her closet is as big as my whole room. And most importantly of all, why am I not asking for my shirt back? She can keep it, I guess. It does look comfortable… I mean, she looks comfortable. In my shirt… I'm going home now._

Article two says to give him some room to be himself. I can totally relate to this one, so no problem, right? I cancel or blow him off sometimes, hoping he will wonder what I'm doing. Although I don't change my look, I change the little things to show I'm not inflexible. Softer materials for my clothes, faux fur on my jacket, _black_ cashmere gloves when it's cold. I'm counting the times his hand reaches for mine. It's definitely increased since I added those gloves. I noticed how upset he was that we all knew his password, so I haven't gone back into his computer since then. Even though I'm dying to know if he's gotten around to changing his password. Maybe I can ask in a way that makes it clear that I've been respecting his privacy.

_Now I'm paranoid. Why is she asking about my password? Is she trying to find out if I changed it? I did. Is she trying to find out why I changed it or what I changed it to? Oh crud. Has she already figured it out and is now trying to cover up the fact that she's on to me? I'm going to change it again to olDmaNneedSAcaT and be done with it. Man, her gloves are soft. I wonder if they make them in something less girly. Um… how long have I been holding her hand and why hasn't she hit me yet?_

Article three boils down to building up his ego. Maybe if he had more self confidence… this could backfire, but sure. It's worth a shot. I'm happy when he's happy so I have no problem cheering him up when he's down. Thank goodness he's smart enough to get the subtle humor of my non-stop sarcasm. I make him play video games, and checkers, and scrabble with me, to show I've got the goods when it comes to problem solving, but also to remind him he does too. I encourage him to come with me to my poetry-slams and rallies for causes of all kinds. Watch me shine and expand your experiences. Just as long as you're looking at me.

_She's funny. I like how she's sarcastic without being bitter and so completely kindhearted when she's trying to be anti-establishment. She's honest. Best of all, she doesn't judge me. Everyone else in my life just sees me as a goof or a slacker, if they see me at all. She's a perfectionist, but she never asks me to be perfect. She listens. She's such a good friend._

Article four says it's all about the hormones. Make him comfortable. Okaaaay. I make him hold my hair band while I brush. Look at me. I bend my principles just enough to cook him a unbelievably tasty vegan berry crumble. It's not all turf sandwiches over here. And they do say that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Must be even truer for a Fenton, right? I make a point of nodding off every now and then during movie night. I feel safe around you. I'm relaxed. I'm trusting you not to break out the permanent marker or shaving cream.

_Oh crap. I'm blushing again. Thank goodness she's asleep or she'd totally notice me staring. I wonder… Her hair is just as soft as it looked the other day and I can't help but feel sneaky when I play with it. Ugh. I need a distraction. Quick, think of ways to talk her into making more of that fruity stuff she cooked the other day. No dangerous ground there. Is she snoring a little? That's cute._

He doesn't have much free time, so I make sure to be right there with him whenever we're together. School, fighting, or the down time between them, I'm right here.

_She's always there for me. Right at my side. Not pushing or in the way, but supportive. I… I think I like this more than I should. I keep going over all the things that make her a good friend. Despite all our responsibilities, we're still kids. Best buds. Right? This is good, what we've got going right now. Why do I want more? Why do I want her to want more?_

I stand up for myself and call him an idiot when he needs it. I'm not a doormat. I'm repressing a lot right now, but I'm noticing you. Notice me.

_She's so strong. She never backs down from what she believes in. She's not afraid to give me a smack when I'm being a dork. And she's pretty and smart, but not all vain about it. She's… all I've been thinking about all day. And all week. Oh no. I think I'm…_

Oh no. I think I see something, but it looks like panic. So close. Come on, you won't lose anything by making that last step. It will be good. I promise. Guess we're back to giving him room. That's fine. I've waited this long. I'm strong enough to wait just a little bit longer.

_If she DID notice me being all spazzy, she's being cool about it. So let's think. I went all ape-man angry when she broke me out of Ember's spell. But that was just the backlash from the spell, right? I was all over-protective and paranoid when that fake oozed his way into her affections with his phony accent. But he was obviously hiding something and I was just trying to protect her, right? I was being a good, if slightly over-reactive, friend. She'd do it for me. Right? Just friends, just friends, just… So why does it seem like I'm delusional and couldn't just admit to being jealous? It's time to get over myself. I love her and I have for a while now. _

_And now it's the end of the world. Nothing left to lose. I kiss her._

He's finally here. Welcome home. I kiss him back.

_This is both scary and exciting. I didn't lose anything by taking that last step. I gained. She's here, and we're together. The world is safe and beautiful. And everything feels so… So why do I feel like I have so much catching up to do?_

_

* * *

_

A/N: Guys mature slower than girls. Fact of life. At least he got there in the end. Thank you to Paul Dobransky, MD, author of _The Secret Psychology of How We Fall in Love_ for giving me the list for Sam so that Danny had time to catch up. Oh, and the topic? Graduation (of feelings): the steps to falling in love from Somewhere around junior high to just after PP.


	28. Name Calling 56

Challenge topic #56: Name calling  
Character(s): Danny F/P, a bunch of OC's  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

He never thought the day would come that anyone would willingly seek out his help when it came to ghost hunting. But here he was, shaking hands with a prematurely aged man who made no effort to hide the relief in his eyes.

"Thank you for comin'. I really appreciate you comin' out to see to this yourself. We just got no thoughts on what we're to do next. Tried everything else. Had the priest come out, say a blessin'. That worked for a while, but then it started up again. Took 'er to the hospital for what tests we could afford. They didn't find anythin' that could explain to us what's been happenin'. So, here you are. If you can't help… we've got nothin'."

Danny's sky blue eyes scanned the living room as her father's weary voice rolled to a stop. The house was poor, but tastefully decorated. The yard was tidy. The paint was faded, but not chipping. Every surface was almost painfully clean and he could tell that the family made up with pride and their love of one another where worldly possessions left them lacking.

"I read your letter, and we talked for a bit on the phone. Can you run through it for me again now? I'd like to get a feel for what exactly has happened and what might have gone on since you wrote."

"Right then. Shanna, you tell it. It's your story." The girl's father nodded at her, prompting her to tell her tale.

Her shy voice edged slowly out of the sunlit corner where she sat. She never lifted her eyes from where she had her hands tightly clasped in her lap. "It started a while back when I was 7 or 8. We moved all the way across town. I didn't care, 'cause I didn't change schools or anything. A while after we moved in and fixed the place up it started. Once in a while I would hear my name called. It would always sound just like my dad so I would run downstairs and ask him what he wanted me for, and he would tell me he never yelled my name.

"At first I thought Daddy was just messing with me because he likes to joke around, but it started happening more and more, especially when I was home alone. After a while of hearing my name called I got used to it. I still thought my dad was just messing with me."

Shanna glanced bashfully up at her father. He was obviously trying to hide his worry, trying to look encouraging as she continued.

"One weekend I was downstairs by myself just playing quiet while my dad was upstairs asleep and then I heard my name called again. I knew dad was asleep. I got up and walked out the room and down the hall to the stairs. All the lights upstairs were off, but I checked dad anyhow. He was still asleep. I went back downstairs even though I was getting kinda scared. I started playing again when I felt like someone was watching me. I got freaked out and left the room and back out the hallway.

"Later I was watching TV in the living room. The hallway is connected to the living room." She gestured through the open doorway. "As I was watching TV I heard my name called from the hallway like a whisper. The first time I barely heard it. A couple of minutes later I heard my name called again from the hallway, louder this time. I jumped and stood up, looking into the dark hallway. I can't remember if I saw anything, but I'm pretty sure I didn't. I ran upstairs and turned on all the lights. I got over it after a while, but I never told anyone about it or anything before that until after things started getting really bad.

"A little while after that I was playing hide and go seek with my little brother, down in the basement. Dad built us a little playroom down there. Greg always hides in the back cabinet of the laundry and storage room down there. It's the other place where I feel watched. I went into the cupboard knowing I had him, because I saw the winter coats moving around a little. I pushed some of the clothes back. I didn't see him, but I knew he was hiding in there. I pushed back the clothes that were moving, then I pushed aside more of them where I heard someone laughing. I couldn't find him, so I gave up and yelled for him to come out. He yelled from further down the hall in the other room. Then I heard voices talking and laughing to each other. They sounded like maybe ten or so women whispering in a gossipy way. I couldn't hear what they were saying. The voices were coming from the storage part of the room behind the old wood-stove where the wood used to be stacked. Well, I got out of there so fast it wasn't funny and was totally scared out of my mind."

"That does sound pretty scary. Can one of you show me where these things happened? If there's anything there I can sort it out for you pretty quick." Danny got to his feet.

Shanna came over and grabbed his hand. "You'll go with me? Daddy too?" Danny smiled down at her, nodding. She pressed her advantage. "Can you be Phantom? So nothing will get us?"

Danny took a quick look up at her father to judge his reaction, before shrugging his acceptance. "Whatever you need to feel safe. Let go for a sec? This feels weird if you're not used to it."

He waited for her to retreat to her father's side before he triggered his transformation rings. Once the change was complete, he gave himself a moment to focus on staying tied to the ground. It was all too easy to simply float when he was Phantom, but he had noticed that unless there was a ghost actively attacking, even his Phans were more comfortable seeing him grounded. The more human he looked and acted while he was Phantom, the less traumatic this would be for Shanna. He held his hand back out to her and allowed her to lead him to the activity hotspots.

When they entered the hallway he addressed her father again. "I'm still getting used to all this. What made you decide to ask me for help?"

"Well. You were Shanna's first choice. She's a big fan." Shanna got over her trepidation about entering the hallway to beam a gap-toothed grin up at Danny. "I wasn't gonna bother you 'bout it, 'cause I know you mostly do those attacking ghosts, an' all. I called all those folks that have the shows on the TV. You'll have seen 'em? Those plumbers with their fancy cameras and meters an' such. An' those college boys with their pet psychic. I even called all those folks that came 'round when you weren't so popular." Here he paused, his expression torn between anger and embarrassment. "The TV people and them government men said we weren't worth their time. All the rest…" He flushed painfully. "The rest of 'em wanted too much money. We haven't got much. You an' your folks were the only ones willin' to do this for free."

Danny looked back at the man from where he paced the hallway, looking for signs of spectral activity. "And my parents were willing, but too busy."

"Yeah. They sent me right back to you. Like I said, it is really fine to have you here. I'm glad you're willin' to help an' all. I just didn't want to bother you with this. I figured you'd be too busy with the big things happenin' aroun' town an' dealin' with the press an' all."

Danny smiled back at him to ease his anxiety. "It's no trouble. Actually, it's kind of nice. None of the ghosts I usually deal with bother to ask for appointments like you did. They just barge right into my life at the worst possible time. It's also nice to hold a normal conversation with someone without the screaming. And it's always good to meet a fan, especially when it means we both get a day off of school." Shanna giggled up at him.

He cast one last glance around the hallway and asked her, "Shanna? Are you hearing or feeling anything in here right now?"

She shook her head, clasping his arm tightly as she leaned into him. "No. The one up here has been quiet for a couple of days. I still get nervous if the light's out or if I have to go through here alone, though."

Danny nodded. "I'm not feeling anything right now. If there is something here, it might not be here all the time. Do you usually hear it call your name at a particular time of the day? Is it only certain days of the week? Maybe only when it rains or something?"

"No. It happens just whenever. Sometimes he's in here for a long time and then he'll be gone for a while. Last year I started writing it down." She used her free hand to rummage in the oversized pocket on the front of her skirt. "I made this calendar in school and decided to put down the days he talked to me. Usually he just calls my name, but sometimes he tries to scare me."

She pulled out a bundle of bright construction paper stitched at one end with thick red yarn and handed it to him. He flipped through the pages for a moment, puzzling out her scribbles. "This is a really good idea, Shanna. It was smart of you to keep a record like this. I think we should go look at the basement, since neither one of us is sensing him here right now. I don't see anything in your calendar about the basement. Do you keep track of that somewhere else?"

"No. The ladies' voices are there most of the time. They weren't so bad at first, but they got meaner. The thing that watches me in the basement is always there. I don't like to go in there at all anymore. I make Greg play with me up here or in the yard."

When they reached the doorway at the base of the basement stairs, she started to pull back. Finally she released her death grip on his hand to cling to the doorjamb. Danny moved forward on his own, sticking his head into the playroom and storage areas before moving to the soot dark corner that held the laundry area and the old wood-burning stove.

"I do feel something off in here. It's…" He stopped to reassure them when he heard Shanna whimper a bit behind him. "No. It's okay. There isn't a ghost. I have a very noticeable reaction to ghosts. There is a kind of charge, though. It's making me itchy. Mr. Mills? How old is this house?"

"Uh. 'Bout a hundred, hundred-fifty years, I think. I know it was the rest house for a local coach line back in the day."

"And does anyone besides Shanna feel uneasy down here?"

"Yeah, Sherry an' Jerri, my wife an' her sister, they both say they feel somthin' watchin' 'em when they're down here. Sometimes they get headaches." He tried to make a joke of it. "She makes me do the laundry now. Can't tell you how many clothes I've ruined. Me an' the boy don't feel or hear anythin', but you can't help but get nervous sometimes when everyone's tellin' you that you should be." He ruffled Shanna's hair.

Danny stood with one hand extended towards the floor joists overhead. "I think I know what at least part of the problem is. This looks like some very old, original wiring and the house…" He broke off when he heard a rumbling sound thundering down the stairs, instinctively getting into a fighting stance. He relaxed when he saw his hosts smiling up the stairs. A piping voice heralded their visitor.

"Is he still here? Can I see him? Oh, my God! There he is! This is so cool! Brian is gonna be so jealous! Can I take a picture with you? Can you sign it and say I'm your best fan ever because Brian is a lying, stupid booger head and you've never even met him? Aaahhh!" The boy, obviously Greg, had to stop his shrill monolog as he began to hyperventilate.

"Ummm." Danny mentally slapped himself. Where were the clever comebacks when he needed one?

"So, how was school, Greg? Have a good day?" His father drawled, hiding his smirk behind his hand.

Greg ignored him to gaze adoringly at his idol, Phantom.

Danny decided to kill two birds with one stone. "Actually, you got here just at the right time. Shanna, can you and Greg go get the bag I left by the front door? I've got some equipment in there that I need to use right now."

Both kids nodded enthusiastically and thundered back up the stairs. Danny heard Greg's voice as they disappeared, "MOM! HE KNOWS MY NAME!" followed by a woman's chiming laughter.

"Mr. Mills, why don't you tell me the rest while they're gone."

"Yeah. Like I said, the girls all feel whatever's down here in the laundry. Shanna's the only one that hears anythin', either here or upstairs. If that's all it was, I'd let it go, but lately… Lately she's started gettin' night terrors. She also started wettin' the bed again. Hasn't done that since she was four." He looked sheepish. "Please don't tell 'er I told you."

"No problem."

"Well. That's all bad enough, but she finally told us about all this when it got worse. She's terrified the house is gonna burn down. Afraid of fire all together. She came to Sherry and me so often, convinced the house was gonna burn down right that very night, that I tore out the chimney for that stove and blocked everythin' up, even though we never use it. She don't sleep at night much anymore, either 'cause of the nightmares or 'cause she's just too scared. She says one night she heard paper rustling at the foot of her bed. She didn't see anythin' there, but when she tried to go back to sleep she heard a match strike and fire crackling down by her feet. She said she fell asleep eventually, but didn't remember the sound stoppin'. She was just too tired to stay awake any more.

An' then the worst thing… Those voices whispering at her. She told us just a while back that they started all talking as one, that told her to go into the other bedroom and hit her brother. She said she saw a picture of it in her head. She was walkin' into her brother's room an' hittin' him with her fist, right in his face. She loves him an' has always been protective of him. Ever since he was born. She told us she didn't wanna do it, but these voices kept tellin' her to. She said she got angry that these voices would ever tell her to do that, so she went an' tucked him in, an' kissed his forehead while he slept. The voices stopped an' didn't start again that night. But I'm afraid. If it's a ghost, we're worried it might hurt the kids or make them hurt each other. If there's no ghost, an' it's just Shanna, in her head… We don't…" He broke off, in obvious distress as the children ran back in, followed by his wife.

"Evenin', Glenn, honey. Introduce us?"

Danny shook Mrs. Mills' hand and exchanged 'pleased to meet you's' as Greg chattered at him. "We looked at the front door, but your stuff wasn't there. So we looked outside and in the kitchen and by the upstairs stairs and the basement stairs and in the bathroom and…"

Shanna cut in, "And we finally found it under your chair in the livingroom."

"Heh, sorry. I forgot I left it there. Well, now that I have my bag I can use this!" He brought out what looked like a small voltmeter with a flourish. "This is pretty much like the fancy EMF meter you saw those guys on TV use, but mine was built my parents. It detects electromagnetic fields _and_ ghosts."

He aimed the device at the area he'd been inspecting earlier and nodded. "Yep. See this? The EMF is off the charts. It looks like the junction box here is wired all wrong. I'm not a contractor or anything, but I can rewire this for you and check the rest of the house."

Glenn nodded, but remained on edge. "I'm pretty handy myself. I'll go get my tools and give you a hand. You got a flashlight?"

Danny smiled. "Don't need one." He held up his hand and slowly let off a number of ghostly energy balls that remained floating near the ceiling. "You turn off the power at the fuse box and we'll be ready to go. As for any ghosts, I haven't sensed any and the meter says there isn't anything nearby, so I'll just leave some sensors with you. They're tied into my friend's PDA. He can call me anytime they start reading something and I'll get right over here. Just because there isn't anything here right now, doesn't mean there never was.

"I can't find a trace of an imprinted ghost and I'm not sensing any fixed ghost like you'd find in a classic haunting, but you might have a more active type. If anything comes back to bother you, I'll take care of it. And Shanna? Since _your parents_ told me you were the one being targeted by most of the activity, I had _my parents_ make this for you. It's a special anti-ghost bracelet that won't let anything ghostly touch you. Just make sure not to turn it on until I leave. It's not supposed to hurt me, but every now and then I still get shocked."

Shanna clasped her bracelet-adorned wrist tightly to her chest while her brother looked on enviously. "Don't worry, Greg. There's one for you, too. But you can't keep them forever and if I hear you've been teasing your friends about having these, I'll be really disappointed in you. Okay?"

When Glenn came back with the tools, Danny placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and spoke to him quietly. "Don't worry. Ghost or not we'll get this taken care of. If it's a ghost, then I go to work. Unfortunately, hearing ghostly voices doesn't always mean there's a ghost, even in Amity Park. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but there probably isn't anything paranormal at work here. Even when the ghosts themselves are gone, I can usually feel a kind of residue if they've been hanging around a certain place a lot. I'm not really sensing anything in your home, aside from this electrical box.

"But even if it's all in Shanna's head, then it doesn't necessarily need to mean she's crazy or dangerous. I've already got an arrangement with my sister Jazz and her sponsors. You know about her, right? She's a child psychology prodigy with a full ride scholarship at Harvard in psychology and their new parapsychology program. The deal is that anyone I bring to her gets evaluated body and mind. I already cleared it so that if you need the help your family won't get all the media attention." Danny smiled ruefully at this.

"Thank you. I don't imagine any of us would care for somethin' like that." Glenn nodded.

"Yeah, I don't enjoy it much, so I can't really imagine that you would. Jazz told me before I came over that there are some scans they can run to make sure the parts of Shanna's brain that are used for hearing are normal. Something off there can cause hallucinations where she hears things. If it's not that, then they can move on to counseling. It's not considered psychosis unless she _listens_ to the voices. Jazz said, worse comes to worst, there're lots of people who hear voices that just ignore them and live completely normal lives. It'll all be completely free for you. The only price you'll have to pay if it goes that far is the inconvenience of leaving home for a while. And Shanna'll have to put up with being poked and prodded a bit by the doctors. Nothing invasive without your consent. They'll probably write about her in one of their medical journals, but no names or anything are ever mentioned in those. So no one will bother you unless you want to go public on your own. Jazz would be available to translate anything the doctors tell you from doctor-speak to normal person language.

"And hey, I might be wrong about the whole ghost thing. Maybe there is a ghost and you won't have to go through the rest of that trouble. It could be really sneaky or something. It _is_ Amity Park, after all. It usually_ is_ a ghost. So, either way, you're set."

They wrapped up the electrical work on the junction box just as Shanna returned from upstairs, edging around her brother where he sat watching from the bottom of the stairs and carrying a tray of lemonade and snacks she and her mother had prepared. She bit her lip as she approached, but she came right up and offered him the refreshments.

"So, Shanna, Mrs. Mills, is this any better? All the wiring right here is fixed and you shouldn't be feeling so spooky anymore."

Sherry moved experimentally around the room, pausing here and there to test her environment. "Yes, that's much better. I normally woulda felt it by now."

Shanna nodded enthusiastically. "I don't hear them. And my head doesn't hurt."

"Makes sense. Women are usually more sensitive to high EMF. It can make you feel like you're being watched or give you a headache and make you sick."

Greg piped in, "Then why did you feel it and Daddy and me didn't?"

"Some guys can feel it, too, just not as many or as much as the ladies. I probably feel it when you don't because I have powers. And because I'm always getting electrocuted by things. I'm like a walking lightning rod!" The kids laughed at his joke and eagerly helped him start placing sensors around the room. He transformed back to human. "Let's get this all set up. Once everything is done, you can turn on your anti-ghost bracelets, have your dinners, and enjoy a nice peaceful night's sleep knowing nothing can hurt you tonight. Your dad and I will check the rest of the wiring. In the morning I'll call a house inspector I know that owes me a favor and he'll come by and make sure your house is completely safe structure-wise."

When they finished up the inspection and the sensor set-up, Glenn held Danny back from leaving for a moment. "Mr. Fenton."

Danny winced, "Please, it's just Danny."

"Danny, then. Whatever name you choose to call yourself or whatever form you choose to take. We wanna thank you for coming. We do really appreciate you comin' out to see to take care of us like this. You've taken time for us when everyone else decided they were too good for us, even those tax-sucking leeches in the government."

"The Guys in White? No loss there. I hear they're probably going to be disbanded because they're so incompetent."

"That's not my point, really. You were the only one to care more for my family's well-bein' than for ratin's or money. You've promised to see us through to the end, no matter where that might be. An' you're doin' it all while askin' nothin' for yourself."

Danny shrugged, "It's okay. I don't really want anything out of this. I'm just doing what's right."

Sherry chimed in with a warm laugh, "You probably should charge, at least a little. You've got a right ta make a livin'. And from what we've seen, you're better at this than most of the 'professionals'. See if you can't get some of those tax dollars the g-men are abusin'."

Danny just shook his head, while Glenn continued.

"What I'm sayin', though maybe I'm not sayin' it clear 'nough, is that whether or not you're lookin' to us for payment, we figure there's a debt. Our folk hold family as sacred, an' anyone of our blood will honor what we owe you for your help here. You're takin' on a burden for my family that I wasn't able to carry, an' it won't be forgotten. I've already passed on the word."

Danny looked at their solemn, nodding faces, slightly in shock, "But, I don't…"

"You don't _ask_, which is even more reason you should _receive_. Don't bother yourself about it if you don't want. May come to naught. But if you _do _need anythin' that's in our power to give you, then we will give it to you. If it stands outside our power to give you, we will find someone else who can provide. If you want, think of it this way. This is _our_ way of doin' what's right. An' I'm sure that though most folks you help aren't as serious 'bout this as we are, they all feel the same. You give us peace of mind. Least we can do is give back."

Danny stood there, flabbergasted.

Sherry spoke next, taking his hand and speaking earnestly. "We don't care if Shanna hears that name callin' for the rest of her life, long as she's safe. We'd walk to the ends of the earth ta keep her so, and we know now that you would too. The comfort we get from that is worth any price we may have ta pay. We just want you ta know that. We take no part of what you do lightly. An' we intend ta repay you in kind. Just as it should be. Just as everyone ought. It's what's right, after all. So thank you. For everythin'."

* * *

A/N: Never realized twangs were so hard to write. Bleh. I couldn't keep the story on track or make it finish the way I wanted. Oh well. I'm desperate for something to post and I've got nothing else written. This will have to do. Hope you enjoyed anyway.


	29. Damage 89

Challenge topic #89: Damage  
Character(s): I don't want to spoil it  
Genre: Ditto. You have to guess  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

Danny's stomach twisted as he contemplated the situation. It was too late, of course. The damage was done. As dire as things seemed right now, he doubted Clockwork would grant him a do-over. After all, in the cosmic scheme of things, what had happened wasn't even a hiccup. This wouldn't mean the end of the world, despite the forbidding predictions of certain parties. No. The best thing he could do right now, the only thing he could do right now, was to deal with the problem immediately before him. The classic hero's conundrum, his obligation clearly lay with the people _here_ and with stopping Technus from causing any _more_ collateral damage. Nothing would be gained by worrying about the what-ifs. He had no real say in the outcome of his current predicament anyway. The greater plan had already been set. He was just a pawn.

His gut took another turn southward as the voice grated through the device in his ear, darker than he'd ever heard it. "Twenty minutes."

"Twenty! Come on! He's picked up some chainsaws in addition to the rest! How am I supposed to…"

The voice cut him off, crackling with the electrical interference Technus kept throwing out. "That's _your _problem. This is not a negotiation. You have twenty minutes. In the meantime, you're to maintain radio silence. I don't want that longwinded idiot eavesdropping."

Danny pivoted in midair to avoid a barrage of flailing electric tentacles. "Wait! What about Sam and Jazz? And my car! Is my car…?"

"Focus, Daniel! The ladies are here with me, all _three_ of them, safe and sound. You'll see them when you join me here in… eighteen and a half minutes. I'm busy, but I can certainly tell the human girls that you prioritize them higher than the mechanical one. I'm sure we could all do with a little bit of humor right now."

"Yeah, yeah. Signing off." Danny grimaced as he focused on his foe. He didn't want to tempt fate, but really, could things get any worse?

"Child! I, Technus 2.72a prime, Master of Technology and of All Things Electronic and Beeping shall use my ghost powers and newly acquired mechanical might to vanquish you! My latest upgrade is completely tubular and fly! With you out of the way, I shall use the technology in this city, and then the world to become Supreme Ruler of the Earth!"

Ugh. Ask and ye shall receive. "Will. You. Please. Just. SHUT! UP!" Danny punctuated the words with ectoblasts. Metal scorched and sizzled upon impact. Technus staggered under the blows, falling to one hydraulically actuated knee. Danny flew in to pound the mechanized exoskeleton, hoping that the precisely aimed energy shots had created a flaw in the superstructure that he could exploit. Unfortunately, Technus had anticipated his approach and blocked with his many deadly appendages. Danny found himself dodging another round of eel-like wires and barely managed a back flip to avoid one of the plunging chainsaws.

"I, Technus, am totally unraveling your sweater!"

"What? That doesn't make any sense. Even when it comes to out of date slang."

"How about 'WHO'S YOUR DADDY?'"

"Now you're just recycling lines from our earlier fights. And I thought your mullet was lame. This is a new low, Sparky."

"I am Technus! And you will… wait a minute. Where are your friends? The whiney nerd and the frustrated little Goth girl who couldn't admit her feelings, have they left you? Ha! Perhaps they have decided they needed an upgrade as well! You are obviously no longer good enough! Have they decided to move on to something better?"

Danny's strained temper boiled over. "You don't talk about them! Shut the hell UP!" He plunged recklessly forward at top speed, barely managing to place his splayed out hand palm-first on Technus' armored chest before he was viciously backhanded. Danny's eyes flashed temporarily blue as he was sent tumbling end over end through the sky. His elbow clipped the edge of an apartment building as he sailed past, spinning him like a silver and green Catherine's Wheel until he crashed into the street below. The few remaining spectators fled the area. Danny staggered to his feet, one hand firmly wrapped over his mouth, the other clenched to his stomach while he fought off waves of vertigo.

"Temper, child, temper. There's that emotion of yours again. You cannot chide me about recycling when you remain unable to learn from your past mistakes! Emotion is your greatest weakness! You should know this after our little scuffle with the angry hunter girl! Ah, well. Nothing you need to worry about. For now you are through interfering with my plans! I will be returning you to your schooling!"

"Ugh. It's you're going to 'school' me. I can't decide what's making me more nauseous, your butchery of good slang or the little trip I just took." He rolled backwards in an awkward somersault to avoid slashing chainsaws. "Hey," he spoke into the communications device. "Hello?" Dodge a tentacle. "Hello!" Flip over a buzzing blade. "Is this thing working?" Duck a mechanized snap kick. "HEY! How much time do I have left?"

The static filled signal sputtered out of his earpiece with an unusual amount of venom. "What part of radio silence did you not get? You have less than seven minutes. If you plan to get here on time, then I suggest you get moving. You know where to meet me."

"Got it. I'm on my way." Danny's jaw set in a determined frown. This was the only thing left to him, then. He had to lure Technus to his assigned destination without arousing his suspicions. The price of failure was not one he was prepared to pay. He moved backwards along the street, stooping quickly to pick up a fallen light post and ward off Technus' thrashing weaponry. "Note to self: look into fencing lessons at Amity Park Community College. They might come in handy."

Halfway to his destination, Danny's impromptu foil tangled with several of Technus' charged tentacles. The searing voltage caused his hands to seize irrevocably around the pole as his body began to spasm.

"Ggggkkkkkss."

With a final bone straining contraction, he wrenched the light post away from Technus, taking the interlocked tentacles with it. Whisps of smoke rose from his burned hands. "Gah. Stupid. Aluminum is conductive. Must have some drain bamage. That's not exactly how I was planning to 'disarm' you, Sparky, but I'll take what I can get." Danny had seemingly lost control of the movement of his hands and arms as they contorted into abrupt and uncomfortable looking positions. His eyes flashed unpredictably between green and blue.

"Stop calling me Sparky, you whippersnapper! I am Technus, version 2.72a prime! I am the Future of this World!"

"Why didn't anyone warn me the future was gonna be so retarded? Yipe!" Danny barely dodged the remaining tentacles. He floundered into the air and moved as quickly as he was able in the direction of his rendezvous. Glancing over his shoulder at the pursuing Technus, he could only hope that his flight looked more like a panicked retreat than the tactical withdrawal it truly was. He came to a halt outside one of the city's power stations, keeping his foe occupied with their drunken dance of strike and evade while he looked for further instruction.

"I'm here. What now?"

"I'm ready for you. Get inside the main generator building behind you and turn human immediately. We don't want to find out the hard way what this will do to your ghost form, do we?"

"What? Are you sure? This is Technus here and…"

"Now, Daniel! Get in here!" The harsh tone made Danny wince and shake his head.

"Okay, okay. Here we come." He turned to fully face Technus with his hands raised in a 'surrendering' pose. In the instant before the ghost could begin yet another obnoxiously triumphant monologue, Danny clenched his lax hands into fists. This time his entire aura flashed to blue. "Ready for the final act, Technus?"

"Wait! What is this!" All of the joints on the ghost's upgraded form locked into place as Danny's ghost ice surged outwards.

"Yeah. You remember about fifteen minutes ago when you trash-talked my girlfriend and my best friend? When I got my hand onto that tiny, almost unnoticeable crack I blasted in your armor? I planted a small ice crystal. That twitchy little spaz dance I was doing a little while ago? That was me growing that ice inside your… um… your 'body'. And now, we're headed inside." Danny grabbed the immobilized Technus and phased them both into the building. As soon as they were inside, he released his hold on both the ghost and his ice powers. He triggered his transformation and tumbled clumsily away as quickly as his human reflexes allowed.

Technus' mechanized form resumed its normal animation with a series of squeals and grinding noises. "No! You cannot defeat me!"

Danny nodded his agreement as he scrambled out of range, holding his aching ribs. "Exactly. I'm not here to defeat you. My job was delay, distraction, and delivery. _He's _the one in charge of 'defeat'. He's the one you hurt, after all." He threw his thumb back over his shoulder to indicate a shadowy form behind him.

Technus squinted his optics to see whom the ghost boy was referring to. All he managed to see before the end was a subtle glint where the figure's eyes should be located and a flash of red. The room lit up in a coruscating series of flashes. A low hum rumbled through their bones. And Technus let loose a spiraling shriek of dismay as his exoskeleton virtually disintegrated under the influence of a tremendously powerful magnetic field. Their eardrums were saved only by the timely appearance of the Fenton Thermos' energy vortex as the generators spun to a stop.

Danny glanced around to get his first good look at the room. The smoking pile of wreckage that used to be Technus version who-really-cares-anymore was bracketed by four heavy steel girders that had been braced on end. Each of these was swathed in a cocoon of jury-rigged wiring and scaffolds. All of it fed on a full third of Amity Park's power supply. There would be some unhappy customers calling. Sam and Jazz stood over in the corner, out of range of any possible harm. They were exhausted, covered in sweat and grease, but they seemed rather proud of all their hard work. They gave him encouraging smiles when he made eye contact. Finally his wandering gaze found the final person in the room. He stood, head bowed, in the shadow of the left-hand generator. Danny limped forward to place a hand on his shoulder.

"You got him, man. And you did it with style. It was the perfect plan and this victory is all yours. You gonna be okay now?"

The only sound was a faint snuffling.

Danny gave the shoulder he gripped a gentle shake as Sam and Jazz ventured closer. "Tucker?"

Tucker abruptly broke down into sobs as he threw himself onto his best friend. "He killed my baby!"

Danny awkwardly patted Tucker's back as the young man mourned the loss of his beloved PDA. "But you had everything backed up, right? Um, 'she' can never be replaced, but… um…" He looked to his sister for help.

"Come on, Tucker. Let's go plan some kind of memorial so that you can have some closure over this. The maintenance crew is waiting to clean up our mess." Her face underwent a series of odd contortions as she struggled not to laugh at her little brother's devastated best friend.

Sam chimed in as she urged everyone to the back exit, "You've gotten revenge for her loss and have the required enemy to 'lay at her feet.' It's time to go home."

Tucker nodded and allowed himself to be steered outside. He sniffled. "You're all the best. Thank you for helping me with this."

Danny instructed them all to grab beach towels from the trunk to spread over his car seats before he let them in to ride home.

Jazz teased him. "Hah. Who's the uptight one now? I'm surprised you let Tucker drive over here."

"I don't want you to leave any stains, you're filthy. And he needed it. You…" Danny pointed an accusing finger at Tucker. "I know this was hard for you. I get that you're hurting. But _never, ever_, call me Daniel when you're bossing me around. You know I hate that."

Tucker had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry, man. Won't happen again. Promise."

* * *

A/N: I've been dreading writing Technus for a while. If you look, you'll see I based most of his dialog on lines I stole, I mean borrowed, from the show. Ever notice how he always talks with exclamation points?

This moment of Tucker awesomeness is dedicated to my most prolific reviewer, dragondancer123. This one's for you!


	30. Present 59

Challenge topic #59: Present  
Character(s): Lancer's English class  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. I just wanted an excuse to shout book titles.

* * *

"Now, class. As I told you at the beginning of the term, this test can make or break many of you. It counts for…"

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzkkkt snf

"… 30 percent of your grade. It covers not only the material we've reviewed recently, but also th…"

Snrkx

"..e course-work from the beginning of the semester _and_ your special out-of-class reading assignments. Please pass these back. Test papers are to remain face down on your desks until I tell you to begin."

ZZZ-Zzzz

He started to distribute piles of the test papers to the front row students. "You will have thirty minutes to complete the test. There will be no make-ups or extra credit for this one, so…"

ZZzzz-hngGGggh

"_An Interrupted Life_**! **WHAT is that noise?" Only snickers from the students answered him. Snickers and…

Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . .

Lancer stalked to the back of the room where Sam abandoned her frantic attempts to wake her friend. A swelling tide of whispers followed the teacher. This should prove to be entertaining. It would certainly be much more fun than a test. The whole classroom turned to watch. With all the fearsome grace of a (balding, overweight) lion he placed Danny's test quietly down on the boy's desktop, loomed forward over the condemned teen, and shouted.

"DANIEL FENTON!"

"Wha? Present!" The students burst into raucous laughter interspersed with random shouts of 'loser' and 'so busted'.

"And it's certainly a pleasant surprise to have you here today, Mr. Fenton, given your track record. Your unaccustomed presence in my classroom does not, however, grant you the luxury of sleeping here. What were you doing last night that was more important than being alert in your classes today? Another marathon session of Doomed?"

"No, Mr. Lancer. I don't play Doomed much anymore. We beat it so often that it's too easy, so we're waiting for the new one. I was actually up all night studying for your test, since you said it was so impor…" Danny broke off with a gasping cough. He quickly brought both hands up to cover his mouth and conceal the plume of blue mist slipping past his lips. "Oh no."

"I am Läsnä, the Attendance Ghost! Fear my mandatory scholastic head counting!"

Lancer tried to scramble back, but found his feet glued to the floor. Unable to hold onto his balance, he tumbled backwards into a seated position on the floor. "_Diary of a Ghost_!"

The students in the room scrambled to flee, but found themselves welded to their seats. Laughter was replaced with screaming. Shouting from the hall and a pounding on the door indicated the exits were sealed. No help would be coming for them.

"What kind of a name is Läsnä?" Sam asked over the noise of her classmates. Distracted from her rant, the ghost answered.

"It's Finnish. We have an excellent school system, you know. Now tremble as I…"

Danny took his turn, "Why are you here? Don't you have any place better to haunt? We're supposed to be taking a test here, and I really need the grade!"

Star hissed at them. "What are you doing? Don't make her angry!"

"My cousin, the Lunch Lady, informed me of the low academic standing of your school so I've decided to…"

Tucker took the opportunity to explain while the ghost proceeded with another longwinded exposition. "Whatever. She looks like a really low level ghost. Think of her as the ghostly equivalent of a mouse or something. She's no real threat. What do you think, Danny? 2.2? 2.3?"

"I'd say low to middle twos. She's corporeal and she obviously has some physical manipulation since she's stuck us in our chairs and sealed the door. It shouldn't be too hard to take her out." The ghost levitated the cell phone from Lancer's hand to prevent him from calling for outside assistance.

"I heard that!" she screeched, propelling the phone at Danny's head.

"Ouch! Fine! A 2.6 for basic levitation. She'd fall between the levels of the Box Ghost and her 'cousin'."

Dash scoffed. "You're so full of it, Fen-toad. What do you know? Loser."

"It doesn't matter. The Ghost Boy will save me." Paulina trilled.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Uh-huh. One, his name is Phantom. Two, you need to get over yourself. It's never gonna happen between you." Sam and Danny exchanged smirks.

"Shut up, Gothika! We're meant for each other. You'll see."

Danny spoke over their bickering to reply to Dash's jab. "Hello? My parents are ghost hunters. I don't much like this stuff, but I can't help knowing about it. They talk about it all the time. Tell you what. We can bet on it. I bet you forty bucks that Tucker here can take her down in less than a minute."

"You're on, Fen-toenail! Easiest money I've ever made." Dash high-fived Kwan in the seat next to him.

Tucker protested. "Wait, why do I have to do it? You're the one that practically summoned her by yelling 'present' at the top of your lungs."

By this time the Attendance Ghost had stopped trying to instill fear with her mighty monologues. She found herself reduced to watching the various verbal tennis matches, back and forth, with a rather confused look on her green-tinted face.

"_The Well Educated Mind_, Mr. Foley! If it is within your power to neutralize this menace, then I suggest you do so. I have a test to administer. And as Mr. Fenton so accurately pointed out, he needs the grade. Hop to it!"

Danny sweetened the deal, "If you win this for me, then we can go to the Nasty Burger this afternoon, my treat. Think how many heart attacks on a bun forty dollars will buy us."

"Fine." Tucker reached a hand into his bag. He yelled to the ghost, pointing out the window, "Hey, Läsnä! Is that a truant student out there?"

"What? Where? I shall unleash…!" With his distraction successful, he took the opportunity to pull the Fenton Thermos from his backpack, aim it, and activate the vortex. The unfortunate ghost was sucked inside the device with a final 'no absenteeeeeeees'.

"Seven seconds flat. Nice one, Tuck. Pay up, Baxter." Danny held out his hand for the grudgingly delivered greenbacks.

The book title was mumbled this time. "_Dante's Inferno. _Some days I wonder why I do this. Only twenty-three more years until I can retire." Lancer heaved himself to his feet, dusted off the seat of his pants, and walked to the front of the classroom to fall into his chair. He sighed, rubbing a headache out of his temples. "Class. You may begin your tests. Quietly, please."

The end.

* * *

A/N: _An Interrupted Life_ is the story of Etty Hillesum, a 20-something holocaust survivor who published her diary and letters dated between 1941 and 1943. The main character in _Diary of a Ghost _is named Samantha. _The Well Educated Mind _is a book about classical education. And I think everyone's probably heard about _Dante's Inferno_ even if they haven't read it. Yay shouted book titles!

Läsnä is the Finnish word for 'present', though I'm not sure if it's the adjective form or not. It just looked good for a name.


	31. Transformation 91

Challenge topic #91: Transformation  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

Part I: End of the World.

"It's the end of the world." Tucker moaned pathetically.

"Shut up. No, it's not." No one should have to put up with this, least of all a best friend. Of course, who else would stick around and listen to it?

Tucker pushed Danny out of the way on his bed in order to flop, face down. "I may as well just end it now."

"Stop being so dramatic."

"I told you I hated hospitals!" The muffled exclamation burrowed its way out from the depths of the comforter.

"No. Wait. Let me get this straight. You've had a paralyzing phobia of hospitals for _years now_ because you somehow predicted this?" Danny subdued the urge to smother Tucker with his own pillow by crossing to the abandoned computer chair. Frowning in mild concentration, he idly called up a web browser on Tucker's computer. There, just in the fringes of his mind, were the barest flickers of a developing idea.

Tucker rolled onto his back to stare forlornly at the ceiling. "I'm sure it was one of the reasons. You know… subconsciously."

"Now you sound like Jazz," Danny scoffed.

"Nuh-uh."

"Don't make me smack you, man." What to type into that search bar? Whoa! Not that! He could get all the rants on _that_ subject he'd ever need just by listening to Sam for a few inspired hours. And anyway, it was much too extreme for what Danny had in mind for his buddy. That particular scenario would never happen. Not in a million years.

"Just as long as it's one of those epic, one blow kills, then I'm good. Go for it." Tucker glanced over at the bag that held his camcorder. "Just think how much Hollywood would pay for that."

Danny paused for a moment in his typing, a contemplative look on his face. Shaking his head sharply to drive off the distraction, he scolded Tucker, "Don't tempt me. Listen. No one is asking for an overnight transformation. The doctors just suggested _moderation._"

"Kill me." Tucker demanded.

"Stop it!" _Danny_ demanded.

Perhaps a guilt trip would be more effective, Tucker thought. "You would do it if you were really my friend."

"As if you could have any doubts after all we've been through. Tell you what… as your friend, I will help you through this." There, the ideas on that site had potential. It would take some heavy modification to work, but maybe… He e-mailed himself the link and wiped the browser history. Let this be a surprise.

"By putting me in a life-long coma to end my suffering?" Tucker looked absurdly hopeful at the idea.

Danny rolled his eyes as he spun the chair back to face his friend. "Hmm. Well that has the double advantage of you being hooked up directly to tons of state-of-the-art technology and of blessed silence for the rest of us, but no. I think I have another solution. I can just make the whole mess more appetizing."

Hope crushed. "Danny, man, I love you like a brother. But not even you can carry off something this impossible."

Danny smiled mischievously at Tucker. "Sure I can. I've already got some plans floating around in my head."

"Seriously? Like what?"

"Fire."

…

"Okay. You have my attention." Hope rekindled.

* * *

A/N: Want to know what they were talking about? Stay tuned for Part II. Mwah-hah-hah-ha! Now you have to come back and read some more. I'm a genius! And I've been reading my "How to be a Villain" book too much. (blatant plug for everyone to go back and read Chapter 15: Fruit Loop.) I couldn't decide which challenge topic to do this under, so I'm splitting it between two or more. And yes that '**_fire_**' - 'hope **_rekindled_**' juxtaposition was an intentional pun. Sometimes I just can't help myself.


	32. Sickness 06

Challenge topic #06: Sickness  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: T for one instance of innuendo. Just being cautious.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: Have a wicked head cold and the cat won't let me onto my favorite armchair, so you get a short today. Part II of Transformation will come Wed or next Sun. Sorry.

* * *

"Ooooo. I don't feel so good." His voice was rather pathetic as it issued the complaint.

"What's wrong, Danny?" asked Sam. "You are looking kind of green."

Tucker, on the other hand, immediately perked up, "Can I have your ice cream?"

Danny sent him a faint scowl as he handed over his cone. "Way to be supportive, man."

Tucker took an enormous lick, supremely indifferent to any germs he might also be consuming, "It shouldn't go to waste just because you're sick. Why'd you even come out to Elmer's with us if you weren't feeling good?"

Danny dropped his head down to rest on the tabletop. "I was feeling fine until just before we got to the table."

"Well, what's changed? Same lighting, same stale air conditioned air, same people around. Did your ghost sense go off?"

"No. And by the way, it's officially sad that that is the first place our minds go when anything goes wrong. Are either of you feeling sick?" Danny raised his head slightly from the table to rest his forehead on his crossed arms. He began dry heaving a little.

"Nope," chirped Tucker, done with Danny's cone and already making inroads on his own.

"Eew, Danny! I only had a little headache until you started doing that." Sam whitened, holding a hand over her own scowling mouth. "Try slow deep breaths while smiling. It's supposed to suppress the gag reflex."

He looked at her incredulously, but tried it anyway. The resulting face could hardly be called a smile, but under the circumstances, he was forgiven.

"Don't know anyone who's sick. Felt fine until a minute ago. Didn't have more than a bite of the cone, and Tucker looks fine." Danny counted out his points between desperately drawn out breaths.

Sam considered. "Can you think of anything else that might have caused it? It might have taken a while to hit you. Did you eat any of your Dad's Franken-weenies? Did your Mom reanimate another Turkey?"

Danny leaned back in the chair, shaking his head carefully. "Noooo. Even if they did, I have more sense than that. Nothing too weird has happened lately. At least any weirder than usual."

"Then maybe you're just sick with some flu or something. You might have caught a bug that someone had but wasn't showing. I can't think of anything else that might have caused this to come on so suddenly."

They sat in silence for a minute, while Danny gathered his strength to head back home.

"The music changed."

Sam and Danny turned to look at Tucker. "What?"

"The music. On the store's sound system. It changed just as we were sitting down. There was some instrumental stuff on, then some of this bubble-gum pop started. Does pop make you sick?"

Danny managed a weak chuckle. "I don't like it, but it's never made me sick before. Sam maybe, but never me." She laughed at him, nodding in agreement. He took a moment to focus more closely on the ambient music, listening to the lyrics. He paled once more as the sound hit him. "Oh no. No no no nonononono."

"What?"

"NO! I am not ready to deal with another siren-type. Ember is bad enough!"

Sam caught on, "You mean it _is_ the music?"

"But your ghost sense didn't go off." Tucker observed. Sam spared a hand to hit him as she frantically dug through her bags for the Fenton Phones.

"It's a recording. His ghost sense wouldn't react unless she was actually close by. Here, Danny, do these help?" She shoved a pair of the earpieces at him.

Danny stuck them in his ears, but then shook his head. "No. Oooh, I'm gonna hurl."

Sam shook her head right back at him. "But if it's a ghost singing, then the Fenton Phones should filter out the ghostly sound waves making you sick." The boys looked at each other and then back to her, shrugging. Sam rolled her eyes and pulled them both outside. "If we can't filter it out, then we'll just have to get away from the source. Is this better?"

Danny took stock, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that's better. I'm still a little queasy, but I'm not going to throw up anymore. Why didn't the Phones work?"

"I guess the singer wasn't a ghost."

"But it made me really, really sick. Why would a regular singer give me a negative physical reaction?"

Sam considered. "Maybe it's because _you're_ a ghost, or half-ghost anyway. Although… My headache is gone, so it was affecting me a little bit, too."

Tucker laughed at them, "Aw, maybe it's because Danny's caught Sam cooties. You coming down with Gothness, Danny?"

He had to dodge a swipe from Sam. "Goths aren't contagious, you dork."

"Nope, but they do hate Uncle Walt's Kids to the point of actual physical sickness."

She halted her assault. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He explained, "That was Bethany singing. She's the Gerbil Channel's latest flavor of the month. Singing, acting, clothing lines. Elmer's had her latest playing on the radio inside."

Danny looked at him. "And how do you know all this?"

"She's hot!"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Of course. You realize she's also 100% plastic, right?"

Tucker grinned unrepentantly, "Still nice to look at. Wait, was that a 'blow-up' jab?"

She looked at him, uncomprehending for a moment, before flushing spectacularly. "Ah! Tucker! No! Mental images that I just don't need! Ahh!"

The boys laughed at her.

"Sss-still lo—oo-ook looking for an explanation," Danny persisted through his laughter.

Tucker persisted. "I still think it's because she's one of Uncle Walt's Kids. I don't think any of them can actually sing. That's part of the reason I listen to that music, really. It's not because it's good… most of it, there are a couple of songs… but anyway, I listen because I like to try and figure out what sound modulation programs they're using to make the music listen-able. There's all sorts of image and noise filtering that goes on. And they have to slip in the subliminal sales pitches. Maybe there's something in the altered sound waves that don't agree with your ghost half."

Sam looked thoughtful, "You did say your hearing got a little better after the accident, Danny. You do hear over a wider sound range, even if you can't hear whispers and stuff any better than you used to. You're probably picking up the same sounds that make dogs howl, or something. But that doesn't explain my headache."

Tucker disagreed, "Yeah, it totally does. _You_ don't hear the extras Danny's probably picking up, but Bethany's music is probably as far from Goth as you can get. _Your _symptoms are probably stress related."

"Ha. That makes sense. I told you guys Uncle Walt was the Devil's Spawn. Evil! 'Happiest Channel on Television', my Goth Boots!"

"I've still got a problem, though. Tuck, do you know what programs they might be using? If we can isolate the sounds, can you fix the Fenton Phones to block them as well as ghost noise?" Danny asked hopefully.

Tucker smiled a dangerous smile. "Danny, I know what we're going to do today."

"That's not funny, man."

"Yeah. Unfortunately this means I've got to turn you into a little bit of a guinea pig. I know a guy who has a frequency generator we can borrow. You'll have to sit through a whole lot of testing so we can narrow down what makes you sick. But two little bits of good news!"

Danny looked skeptical, "What's that?"

"One: No dissection. Two: Once we have isolated the sounds, it won't take much fiddling to fix the phones. Or I can even make you new ones, just for blocking Gerbil squeaks from Walt's Kids. Provided I can get all the parts, I can have them ready by the end of the week."

Sam snorted. "Can you make me a set?"

"Sorry, Sam. Since your sickness comes from the fact of the music's existence, instead of what it's made of, you'll just have to tough it out."

She shrugged. "Oh well. I suppose this is a good learning experience anyway. Not all of the evil we face in this world is ghost related. A lot of them are huge corporations who feed upon our apathy and insecurity for self-promotion. Tucker, you work on helping Danny. I'll work on another rally. We're gonna take Uncle Walt and his commercial drones down! Nobody gets away with hurting Danny!"

"What?" Clueless power, activate!

"I mean… No one gets away with trying to brainwash us with meaningless, plastic, mass produced musical vomit and subliminal messages! Um… You two go to Tucker's house to get started. I'll go to the store to pick up some anti-nausea medicine for you and some more ice cream for us all to enjoy once we're sure you won't get sick again. Okay, gotta go, bye!"

She ignored Tucker's smirk and Danny's confusion. What the heck. It was a good idea. Maybe she _would_ hold a rally anyway. It might help her get over this embarrassment.

* * *

A/N: Pre-PP, obviously. So clueless, *sigh*


	33. Tips and Tricks 74

Challenge topic #74. Tips and Tricks  
Character(s): Fentons, Foleys, and a Manson  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: Post PP. Part II of Transformation.

* * *

Part II: The Plan

"Turn off the camera."

Jazz squirmed awkwardly as she attempted to shake her head without altering the focus of the camcorder. "No. This is a momentous event… actually this is two momentous events wrapped up in one. They must be recorded for posterity."

"Fine. But at least pull back a little bit. You're right up my nose. Posterity doesn't need a close up of my sinuses." He calmed himself with the fact that at least she wasn't holding a thermos, as he turned back to his work.

She pulled her eye away from the viewfinder in consternation, "Oh, sorry. I'm still figuring out the zoom."

Danny jabbed a finger towards the camera. "It's that little button on the side. You know, so you can film me from way over there instead of gluing the lens to my face."

"Sarcasm is a defensive mechanism, Danny. It's a means of indirectly expressing aggression toward others and insecurity about yourself. Why are you insecure, Danny? Are you hiding something?"

"I'm not hiding anything." His voice cracked in indignation.

"Actually, sarcasm is an important survival strategy. It is a valuable tool for social communication and it helps in judging people. And, Danny, are you sure you're not hiding anything? Like the fact you're having a cookout and didn't invite me?"

"Sam!" Uh-oh.

"And I was going to mention Sam was better at the whole sarcasm thing than you, anyway." Jazz smiled her welcome.

"Thank you, Jazz. Well?" She stood facing him, arms akimbo.

"Umm. It's not really a cookout. It's an experiment slash demonstration. You," he nodded at Jazz and then over to the nearby picnic table, handing over a platter. "These sausages are done. Please take them over to the table. And while you're at it, stay there. Dad can show you the zoom function."

"Now you're being evasive. We'll be talking about all of this later." She smirked at the face Danny made, but balanced the load gracefully as she walked away, still filming.

"Of course we will." Danny stuck his tongue out at her retreating back.

"That's not an explanation, Danny." Sam started tapping her booted toe.

"I know, but she was still recording and I don't need any of this to come back to haunt me." He shrugged.

She quirked a smile at him, "Was that a pun?"

"What? Oh. It wasn't intentional, really. I was just… um. What were we talking about?" Danny turned his attention back to the grill.

"We are talking about why you are holding a cookout with the entire Fenton and Foley families in attendance, but you didn't invite me? I didn't even know you knew how to cook."

"He's not cooking. He's grilling. And it's delicious." Tucker jibed, coming over to greet her.

"Hey, Tuck."

"Hey, Sam. Danny? Are there any more of those shish-kabob dealies? I can't stop eating them." He rubbed a hand on his belly, grinning enormously.

Danny leaned down to pull a shallow tray out of the cooler next to him. Slipping it onto the attached work surface of the grill, he began pulling out the marinated kabobs and laying them on the grill. "Yeah, but it'll be about ten minutes. I was cooking the sausages."

"You're eating these?" Sam asked incredulously.

Tucker's grin only got wider, "Yup."

"These right here?" Sam pointed to the food on the grill. Maybe she was dreaming, or hallucinating, or something.

"I already said yes." Tucker crossed his arms, pretending to be upset.

Sam blinked, "You know they're made completely of vegetables, right?"

Tucker cocked his head and shrugged, "Uh huh. I don't know what Danny's doing to them, but they're great."

Sam decided there was definitely some kind of mind control going on here, either of her or Tucker. "Even though there are perfectly good meat products available to stuff yourself on? Are you feeling okay?"

"Ha! You admitted meat can be perfectly good to eat! Jazz! Did you get that?" Tucker jumped in glee, turning to shout at the table.

"Got it!" She replied, from her position behind them.

Danny twitched in surprise. "Hey, I thought you were going to film from the table."

"I'm doing a walk through. You're funny when you're frazzled. Oh, and that's burning." She indicated the grill.

"Ahh!" He hastened to flip the little smoldering piece of food away from the flames.

Sam could only shake her head at their antics. "Now I'm even more confused. You're cooking vegetables. On a beautiful, warm evening. Without inviting me. Did I tick you off or something?"

Danny gave her a sheepish glance from under his bangs. "No. I just…"

"He's not cooking. He's grilling. There's a difference." Tucker interrupted.

"What difference? Heat source. Cooking surface. Food. It's cooking, but outside." Sam was torn between irritation at being left out and humor over the banter.

"With Fire!" Tucker exclaimed.

Why not play along? "So? And since when did Danny learn how to cook?"

"_Grill._ It's a guy thing. Straight from the days of caves and leopard pelt togas. Anyone with an XY can take fire, fresh air, and food to make yum. Danny make yum good." Tucker broke off in a series of grunts and scratching.

"Are you saying women can't do that?" Sam narrowed her eyes dangerously at them.

Tucker quickly backed away, hands raised defensively in front of him, "Not in front of _you_, I'm not. He burned some stuff in the beginning, but he's hit his groove now. Yum!"

"Do I get to finish my answer without being interrupted again?" Danny didn't look up from the grill, but let his tone show his impatience.

"Probably not." Sam quipped.

He sighed, "I'm not mad or anything, Sam. I was ju…"

"Danny." Tucker broke in.

"…just trying to find…"

"I'm…"

"… a way to get Tucker…" Danny tried raising his voice.

"… interrupting…" Tucker's eyes began to swim with tears of suppressed laughter.

"to enjoy vegetabl…" That's it.

"… youmph…" Tucker found it hard to continue while locked in a headlock with Danny's hand firmly secured over his mouth.

"…vegetables without trauma." Danny finished in a rush.

She scowled at him with all her Gothic might. It was so much fun to torment Danny like this, "So now my presence is traumatic. Thanks a lot."

Tucker twisted free of Danny's hold, "Ooooo, lover's spat."

"Not helping, Tuck." Danny groused.

"Can't help it. I'm hungry," He whimpered.

Danny flipped the skewers, then turned back to his friends. "Ugh. Okay. In order: Tucker's doctor chewed him out for his all meat diet and painted a really grim picture of his future."

Tucker attempted to garner their sympathy with the 'soulful eyes.' "Really grim. My cholesterol is kind of high for a 16 year old."

Danny laughed at him, "Try really, really high. For an eighty year old. So Tucker was being all drama queenie about it…"

"Hey!"

"… about it being the end of the world, so I came up with this plan."

Tucker gave up his indignation to nod, "And it's working. What did you marinate these in?"

Danny looked back at the grill to avoid eye contact. "Olive oil, vinegar, garlic, some herbs, and… some other stuff. I decided to grill up as many yummy kinds of veggies as I could, alongside the usual meat products. Tucker's folks are here because, well… one, it's just good manners."

Sam pushed at his shoulder,"You're not helping your case here, Danny."

"I'm not finished. Two, I'm not sure Mrs. Foley knows how to cook anything that _isn't _meat or potato. So this is a learning experience for everybody. When this is over, I'll be giving her all my tips and tricks. Three, Mr. Foley is probably in the same boat as Tuck, just further along since he's older. So this will be good for him too."

Tucker agreed, "Yeah, he won't go to the doctor either. Way to look out for my peeps, bro."

Eye rolls, all around. "Tucker, you're too nerdy to do 'street.'"

He pouted. "Am not."

Danny continued, poking at the food, "_Anyway,_ _my_ family is here because it's our house and they paid for all the food. And because Dad could use a more balanced diet, too."

"And because no one believed you could cook. Hence the video I'm recording. You know mom's going to ask you to do this more often now that she knows you can, right?" Jazz interjected.

All Danny could do was sigh, "And she's back."

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving. I have to go record Dad having a non-ghost related conversation, anyway. Posterity!" Jazz headed back to the other side of the yard.

Danny turned back to Sam. "I didn't invite you because you can be kind of… extreme when it comes to the whole vegetable thing."

She reflexively began her speechifying, "Well, it's healthy, not to mention the only morally…"

Danny broke in before she could really get going. "Sam. That's exactly what I was talking about. You have a right to your opinion…"

"My facts." Sam insisted.

"… but you tend to rant. I'm trying to make Tucker's transformation from carnivore to omnivore as smooth as possible. You're always preaching to go cold turkey…"

"Mmm, turkey." Tucker's eyes glazed over as he began to drool.

Danny gave him a wary look as he tried to wrap up his explanation, "… and move straight into vegetarianism. I don't want to scare him off the idea of vegetables all together. Besides, I'm grilling meat on the same grill as the veggies. Doesn't that violate your ultra-recylo-ism?"

Sam compromised. "Fine, I'll keep it to myself until he's acclimated, but you've got a hibachi right there. You can't cook some separately for me?"

"Umm." Danny desperately looked for a way to evade.

"How much longer?" Tucker moaned.

Excellent distraction! "Um. 'Bout six more minutes. Head on back to the table and I'll bring 'em to you when they're ready, okay?"

Tucker came back from his dreamland to tease, "Sure. Got no problem with you waiting on me hand and foot."

Danny frowned at him. "Don't push it, Foley. Go make sure Jazz _stays at the table. _Oh, and save some room. After these are out of the way, I'm doing portabella burgers."

"Sweet!" Tucker retreated to the table to get his plate ready.

When Danny turned away from making sure Tucker was on his way, he saw Sam picking at one of the vegetable kabobs that hadn't made it to the grill yet. He snatched it into intangibility before she could take a bite.

"No!"

Sam startled back at his abrupt swipe. "What the heck, Danny!"

He tried to placate her, miserable at the close call. "You can eat! I'll start some coals in the hibachi right now. You just can't eat _this."_

She looked at him, confused. "Why not? It's just vegetables marinated in olive oil, vinegar, and herbs, right? Totally vegetarian friendly."

"Yeah, but…" Danny bit his lip.

"I'm waiting." Her hands found their way back to her hips as she glowered at him.

Danny checked to ensure they weren't being overheard before he enlightened her. "This is the trick part. I figured baby steps were best, since Tucker's as die hard about his meat as you are about your vegetables. So…"

He stopped to take a deep breath.

"So I kind of spiked the olive oil marinade mix with… um… bacon drippings."

Sam gasped and stepped back. "Eeew, Danny!"

"Sssshhhh! Don't let them hear you! It's a trick I learned from Jazz. If I can get Tuck to admit that maybe veggies aren't so bad all on his own, get him to break down that mental block that anything veggie is nasty, then the rest will be easy. The best way to do that is to sneak in a flavor that he'll never turn down. Bacon."

She turned a delicate shade of green as she covered her mouth with her hand. "That's so gross, Danny!"

"What? At least I stopped you before you ate any. And look at him. It's totally working!" They both looked over towards the rest of the group to see Tucker stealing some bell peppers off of Jazz's plate while she was distracted with the camera.

"I guess." Sam conceded.

Danny tipped a bag of charcoal into the hibachi. "You know, if this hasn't completely killed your appetite I can still make you some. You'll just have to go inside and make your own marinade. There are some leftovers that haven't been 'contaminated' in the kitchen. Grab what you want, marinate it, and I'll grill it. The coals should be ready just when your stuff is done."

She sighed, smiling at him. "All right. I'll do that. I am kind of interested to see how well you can serve me."

"Was that a pun?" Danny teased.

"No, it was a double entendre." Her smile was wicked as she leaned closer.

"Hey, Lovebirds! Quit making out and start making dinner! We're starving over here!"

* * *

A/N: Ha! I didn't thing speechifying was a word, but I'm not getting those annoying red squiggles! Yay. (Yay gets the squiggles.) This whole thing was inspired by a totally awesome BLT my friend made for me recently and the thought 'Bacon makes everything better.'


	34. Fame and Fortune 42

Challenge topic #42: Fame and Fortune  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Tucker Foley  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: Post PP. And post my one-shot #22 Flames in chapter 6. (blatant plug)

* * *

Tucker glanced up from the flashing Game Over screen on his PDA. "Where are we going again?"

Danny shrugged, but kept his eyes on the road. "Some tooling place up here. Mom wanted me to pick up some parts for her latest whatchamathingie."

"And they couldn't mail them?" Tucker asked. His eyes scanned their surroundings for something, anything interesting to look at.

"No. It's some kind of top secret design that she doesn't want falling into the wrong hands." He checked the mirrors and exited smoothly from the highway.

"Oooh, secret agent man." Tucker laughed at him.

Danny rolled his eyes, fighting back a grin. "Shut up."

Tucker punched Danny's shoulder. "Suave, debonaire, a real ladies' man. No wait, that's me."

It was too much to resist, even with his superhuman powers. Danny broke out in laughter. "You wish."

"So why didn't they just mail it, really?" Tucker asked. He started fiddling with the radio. He could only stand so much of the Top 40. Especially when they'd been driving for so long. Danny slapped his hand away from the knobs and dropped a CD case in his lap.

"I told you, mom wants to make sure that no one gets a hold of this. There's some kind of patent thing going on, and people have been making off with our mail." He double checked the directions he'd clipped to the visor. Not far now.

Tucker slipped in his chosen disk as his smile turned mischievous. "Your fangirls have been stealing everything that hasn't been nailed down, you mean."

Danny could only sigh. "That too. Mom and Dad _had_ a post office drop for some of their personal deliveries, but someone leaked the info, so that's no good anymore. It's a secure facility, but some of these people are Cuh-ray-zeeee."

Interim Mayor, the Honorable Tucker Richard Foley, nodded sagely. "You should look into getting a security detail."

Danny frowned as he looked back over his shoulder to merge right. "Unfortunate, but true. Bad enough I had to hire not just one lawyer, but many lawyers to handle licensing stuff and property damage suits and random nuts after me. Sometimes literally. I really wonder sometimes what I was thinking when I destroyed the Reality Gauntlet. I can really use some gem of fantasy action now and then."

"At least with all the licensing in your favor now, you can afford it." Tucker commiserated.

"I did the rich thing, man. Didn't like it. Could have done without doing it again." He pulled over to consult a fold out paper map.

Tucker tried to lighten the mood. "And that's just the sort of earthy humility that make your fans love you even more. Remind me to get you a GPS system for your car. Paper maps are so stone age." He flicked the edge of the map where it was jabbing his arm.

"Don't make me kick you out, Foley. You'll have a great time getting home on your own." Danny stuck his tongue out at Tucker as he folded the map back up.

Tucker grinned unrepentantly, "But then you'd be lonely."

Danny muttered something along the lines of 'might be worth it', but he was fighting a smile as he pulled back into traffic.

Mission accomplished. "So, how much farther? I'm hungry."

Danny took his eyes off the road long enough to look incredulously at Tucker. "What? We just ate a couple of hours ago. Remember? We drove 30 miles out of our way to go to that place you saw on TV."

"You weren't complaining. That food was awesome." Tucker rubbed his belly in satisfaction.

"Yeah it was, and you ate ALL of it. So why are you hungry again?"

He shook his head and pointed an accusing finger at his friend. "What I want to know is why you _aren't _hungry again. We're growing teenagers, Danny. We need sustenance. Especially you, with all the energy you burn off one way or another. Come on. We'll get your mom's top secret whatever it is, lock it in the trunk and go to this place I heard about just south of here. I've heard it's got great chili."

Danny considered, "Where south of here?"

"North Cincinnati." Tucker deadpanned.

Danny almost slammed on the brakes in his consternation. "Tucker, that's not_ just_ south of here! That's like an extra hour out of our way. Each direction!"

"You in a hurry all of a sudden?" Tucker leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms overhead. "This is a roadtrip! When's the next time you're even gonna be over this way? You know you want to. Chili! And no girls along to complain about the side effects." He smiled widely in anticipation.

"Wha… ew, no! Normally I wouldn't mind, but this is my car. No farting in my car!" That smell would never come out… especially if it started with chili.

"Then we'll just have to hit some of the sights in town while we're there." He knew how to sell it, now if Danny would only bite…

Danny sighed. Bait taken. "Fine. We'll hit a stadium or something. I got the bugs worked out of the car's security system, so leaving it parked with our stuff in it won't be a problem. Probably."

Tucker's arms shot up again in triumph. "Awesome! So… how much further? I'm really—"

Danny interrupted. "Hungry, I know. It's right here in this industrial park. That should be it up on the…" He broke off, staring. "Camera! Get your camera!"

"What?" Tucker dove for his bag.

Danny pulled abruptly to the side of the road and gestured through the windshield. "No way. I need a picture of this. It wasn't on the map." There before them stood the intersection of Fame and Fortune.

Tucker blinked as if to correct the vision before him, but it remained unchanged. Fame Road and Fortune Road, marked with simple reflective white font on fields of green. "Ha! Hold on, I'll set it up on a timer, so we can both be in the shot. You want me to get the car too?"

They jumped out, "Of course!"

Tucker set up the collapsible tripod across the street, set the timer, and jogged back to Danny's side. They both smiled widely into the camera lens, pointing gleefully at the signs overhead. "See? This is what I'm talking about. Roadtrips are _made_ of great friends, great food, awesome sights, and the occasional hilarious surprise find. Although…" He looked around at the unpretentious warehouses and offices around them, then back at the simple road signs. "I gotta say, funny as it is, this one is kind of an anti-climax."

Danny snorted, "Yeah. Which is what _I_ was talking about. Fame and fortune. I can do without all the hassle, really."

Tucker laughed at him again. "Just think, if you'd known about this place a couple of years ago, you'd never have had to save the world."

Danny rubbed his face with a light chuckle. "Just get in the car. We've still got to get those parts for my mom and Cincinnati isn't getting any closer."

* * *

A/N: The dialog ran away from me again, but they got there in the end. Fame Rd and Fortune Rd cross in an honest to goodness real intersection in an industrial park in a little town just outside of Dayton, OH. You can look on Google maps for a street view. I took Tucker's middle name from his voice actor, Ricky D'Shon Collins, since I haven't seen anything in fandom about it.


	35. Outcast 82

Challenge topic #82: Outcast  
Character(s): Jack Fenton, Danny Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.  
A/N: Leading into GNO. Couldn't think of nuthin' else. Just like a Scout, a fisherman is prepared for every contingency.

* * *

Jack stood before the couch, list in hand. "Pocket knife?"

Danny picked up the knife and dropped it into the tackle box. "Check."

"Flashlight?"

"Got it." He waved it before adding it to the stack.

"Needle-nose pliers?" Jack questioned.

Danny cast back and forth but didn't find pliers of any sort. "Um… Okay, hold on." He ran for the basement and rummaged around in one of the cabinets until he found the right tool. "Got it," he shouted on his way back up the stairs.

"Waders?"

"Mine or yours?"

"Both, of course."

He sighed. "You're already wearing yours. I'll get mine before we leave."

Jack looked at himself in mild surprise. Sure enough, there they were. "Good. Next… Licenses?"

Danny raised a questioning brow. "We need licenses?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically. "A-yup, it's only responsible. Didn't your spooky girlfriend lecture about the importance of …"

"She's not my girlfriend." He frowned, but there was a certain wistfulness in his reply, well disguised as aggravation.

Jack could only shake his head. "Of course not, Danny. Of course not. Ah, here they are. And they haven't expired yet!"

"What else is on the list?" Danny asked, attempting to change the subject.

Jack ran his finger down the list. "Waterproof matches and a lighter."

Danny rummaged through the plastic box. "Yeah, those are still in the kit from last time."

"TP?"

"Fenton-wipe, check." He pushed a smallish duffle bag towards the center of the room, grousing to himself 'At least he isn't expecting us to rough it with leaves or something.'

"Maps?" Jack asked, checking the last item off the list.

Danny nodded. "Already in the RV."

"Bug repellent?"

At this Danny looked a little sheepish. "We're out of the store bought stuff, unless you want to stop on the way. I do have this can of Foley, by Tucker Foley, though."

Jack hacked in the noxious cloud that emerged when Danny depressed the nozzle. "cough… That should do it. For us and everyone else on the lake… Cough. How about money?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Check your wallet, Dad. I still don't get an allowance."

"Oh, right. Clean underwear?"

"You're kidding."

Jack took on a lecturing tone. "You can never be too careful, Danny-boy! While you're at it, make sure you've got a full change of dry clothes tied up in a plastic bag."

"Okay."

"Toothbrush?"

Danny stopped on his way up the stairs to his room. "No. You said we weren't overnighting."

"Danny, Danny, Danny, I just told you… you can never be…"

"…Too careful, I know. Hold on. I'll go get all that in my backpack." Danny finished trudging up the stairs. A quick rummage through his dresser and scattered items of clothing on the floor gave him a pile of acceptable choices in a knotted garbage can liner. "Clean enough, now available in waterproof," he mumbled, upending his books out of his school bag and stuffing the sealed plastic bag inside. He slipped into his waders and dragged his load back down to the living room. When he got there he saw his father in the middle of the room, about to dig into a plate of flapjacks. "Dad? I was only gone five minutes. When did you…?"

"Nevermind, Danny, I'll just save these for later!" To his son's profound disturbance, Jack tipped the plate into the large front pocket of his waders, patting it to make sure the syrupy flat cakes were secure. "Okay, where were we? Ah! Ice chest number one and snacks?"

Danny gave a final shudder of revulsion before crossing to a red ice chest. He dropped his backpack next to it as he nudged it open with a toe. It was full up to the top with ice and filling treats. "Check."

Jack nodded, picking up his list again. "Ice chest number two and drinks?"

Danny looked around. "Is it the blue one? Check."

"I already loaded ice chests three, four, and five into the RV with my spray cheese, so that's done."

"Wait. How many are we taking with us?"

"Six." Jack said, face perfectly serious.

"…"

"One for snacks, one for drinks, one full of ice for when we catch the fish, two to put the ice and fish in together so we don't stink up the good ice chests, and one for snacks."

"You said 'one for snacks' twice." Danny complained, face screwed up with a strange feeling of déjà vu.

Jack's voice was petulant. "We don't want to run out! What if we get hungry?"

Danny rolled his eyes again. "Okay, okay. How about if we move the ice from the 'ice-only' ice chest into the two 'fish' ice chests so we can save some room?"

Jack grinned widely. "That's my boy, always thinking ahead! Now. Um. Rain gear?"

Looking into the front closet, Danny called back, "All we have is an umbrella."

"Hmm. Nevermind that then. I leaned the poles up by the door there next to the quick change-out untangled spare reels, the bait is in the fridge…"

"I'll get it." He trotted out of the room and returned, pushing the 'ice-only' ice chest, which now also contained the bait.

Jack glanced back down at the bottom of the list. Almost done now. Oh! He almost forgot his surprise. "We don't have any sunscreen, so I got you this hat!" He turned around from digging behind the couch to cram a ballcap down on Danny's head.

Wincing, Danny removed the cap again and turned it around for a better look. There on the crown was stitched… "Outcast? That's kinda harsh, Dad." He cringed into himself, wincing even deeper.

"It's a fishing gear company. They mailed me these for free when I spent over two hundred dollars buying from the catalog! See? I've got one too!" Jack proudly displayed his own hat. Danny could only look incredulously at him.

"Great. We can be Outcasts together." Danny said with a sickly smile.

"That's the spirit! Now here are my lures, but I can't find my favorites. Have you seen 'em, Danny?"

This was an opportunity just begging to be taken. Danny pounced. "I think you stuck them into your old hat. Umm… why don't I trade these caps out for our old hats? I'll go get them."

"Good idea! I'll just get a picture for your mom and my book for Stupids and start loading the rest of this into the Assault Vehicle. Then we're off!" He flicked his cap off and tossed it to a confused Danny before dashing off to his room. Danny mouthed 'picture and Stupid book?', but headed out to the shed to see if he could find their old khaki fishing hats.

On the way he stopped by the garbage cans, intending to dispose of the embarrassingly labeled caps. He paused with his hand over the open can and looked at the hats again. "Well, they are kind of funny. Maybe…" He thought for a minute and then shrugged. Inside the shed he took care to find the most inaccessible box of junk and phased the hats inside. Retrieving the much less discomforting floppy khaki fishing hats he returned to the house to help load. Maybe he could get some blackmail pictures of overshadowed A-Listers wearing the Outcast hats. It was worth thinking about, anyway. For now, he would enjoy his ghost free father-son fishing trip.

* * *

A/N: Outcast is a real company. They make those pontoon fishing boats.


	36. A Piece of My Mind 44

Challenge topic #44: Piece of My Mind  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Maddie Fenton  
Genre: Humor  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. Happy Halloween! Candy all around.

* * *

Danny looked up at his mother as she entered the kitchen. "Mom, I need to ask you a favor."

"What's that, sweetie?" She asked as she started making preparations for dinner. She looked curiously around at some kind of project he had going that involved molds, food coloring, various powders, and some water heating in the kettle.

He raised one hand to rub absentmindedly at the back of his neck. "I need you to distract Dad tomorrow. Make sure that he doesn't leave the house under ANY circumstances. It would be even better if he didn't leave the basement, but I'll settle for house."

Maddie looked at him in surprise, but then shook her head. She answered as she started the fire under the water-filled pentola. "No, I don't think I can help you, honey. Tomorrow is Halloween. Your father and I have plans to patrol the city. We can't let any of those ectoplasmic malefactors wreak havoc in our town on the eeriest day of the year! It's our responsibility to keep the peace and stop any hauntings before they start."

Danny's eyes went round as he frantically waved his hands to quiet her. "Mom! Sshhhh! I've got Dad convinced Halloween isn't until next week." His tone turned sheepish, "And I kinda, maybe… sorta accidentally gave him some ideas about some new inventions to build. I just need you to make sure he stays focused on building them instead of patrolling."

She gave him the look that only seasoned Mothers were able to master. "Danny. Start from the beginning and help me to understand why I would even begin to _consider_ doing what you've asked."

He caved immediately. No child could withstand the _look, _at least not one of Maddie's children_. _"Well, you've heard about zombie walks, right?"

"Zombies! What have you heard, Danny? Has some necromantic reprobate come to Amity to raise the dead? More than they usually are, anyway?" Her fingers curled as if already wrapped around the handles of her weapons and her eyes gleamed with righteous fervor.

He waved his arms again, shaking his head. "No, no, no. See, that's why I don't want Dad involved. No real zombies will be roaming tomorrow. It's just a bunch of people dressing up for Halloween. For a zombie walk, they all get into zombie costumes, meet up someplace, and stumble around moaning about brains for a couple of hours. Brains and candy," he added as an afterthought.

Maddie's 'Mom' look transformed into a 'You're kidding me' look.

He shrugged, stirring boiling water and food coloring into a bowl of white powder. "Well, it's a lot more fun than it sounds. My point is that I need for Dad to _not_ be involved. Sam, and Tuck, and me are all joining up with a big group. It would kinda suck all the fun out of the whole thing if he came and attacked us with glowing nets and his Fenton Un-undead-er."

"The Fenton what?" she asked, incredulous, pausing in the act of adding pasta to boiling water.

Danny shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he said it's only a working name for his latest invention. Something about extracting ectoplasmic essences from the ambulatory reanimates so that he could use his ghost stuff on the non-tangible remains. I tried to bring up the whole 'zombie walk' idea to him a few days ago and he got all excited. I never did get through to him that there wouldn't be any actual ghouls or zombies to shoot at. Best I could do was convince him that Halloween was _next_ week instead of tomorrow." He poured his mixture into a mold.

Maddie sighed, starting a sauce on a free burner. "Well, Danny, I understand that you want to have a good time with your friends and all, but your father and I can't abandon our responsibilities. You know how dangerous Halloween can be. Especially with that Phantom spook still on the loose."

He winced behind her back, where she couldn't see. Maybe a change of tactics would work. "How about you just stay 'on call'? I'm going out anyway, so I'll just take some sensors and stuff with me. The second one of them peeps I'll call home and you and Dad can come save the day. By the way, I'm overnighting at Tucker's so I can clean up and change back into normal clothes. Getting shot coming home would stink even more than getting attacked on the walk." She didn't need to know that the sensors would never utter a sound, ghosts or not. They tended not to work if you didn't turn them on.

She nodded thoughtfully as she stirred. "That… seems like a reasonable compromise. I'll want to sit down with you to make sure you remember all the safety precautions to take, and you are _not_ to engage any ghosts you might come across. When you're done in here, why don't you help me load some weapons into the RV?" She paused to look back at him as he transferred a cooled mold into the pantry. "What are you making, anyway?"

"Oh. Edible jelly brains, and fake limbs, and some other stuff to go with the whole theme of the walk. They're made from agar-agar so Sam will eat them too. She threw a total fit when I wanted to make them from gelatin. Apparently jello is made from cows and pigs, who knew? Tucker found us all kinds of molds and stuff online. I've got the ice chests in the pantry here to hide them while they set up. Only teeth marks in these are gonna be ours." He flipped open another box and pulled out a flawed piece. "Here. This one didn't set up right."

She looked warily at him as a mad smile spread across his face. "Hey, mom."

"Danny…" she said warningly.

"Do you want…?" he waved a chunk of pinkish-white jelly from the flawed mold.

"Don't say it, Danny." Maddie insisted, fighting a smile of her own.

He started laughing. "I can't help myself. It has to be said. I'm giving you a piece of my mind!"

Maddie shook her head and covered her eyes. "Oh, Danny. That's awful!"

"Come on, try it. It's strawberry cream. Brrrraaaaaiiiiinnnssss!"

She capitulated and allowed a small smile to slip as she took a small piece of the gruesome confection. "Tasty."

* * *

A/N: Punny! A pentola is a fancy pot you make pasta in. "Tasty." is a nod to an obscure journal entry in one of my favorite zombie-themed video games ever: Capcom's Resident Evil 2. On another note: this is getting spooky. My first post for this challenge was on the 4th of July, just because I had some free time. My thirtieth chapter fell on 10/10/10. (10*3=30) Now I'm posting on Halloween, as a regular posting day. I know I have a 2 in 7 chance of _something _significant happening on the day I post, just because I do so twice a week, but this is starting to freak me out. Run for your lives!


	37. Weapons 17

Challenge topic #17: Weapons  
Character(s): Jack Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: I'm going to cheat a bit and split this up into a Challenge fic and an independent one-shot. It's just not ending where I thought it would. So please forgive me for making this short (and check-list like) and then go and read the split-off 'Jack Fenton's Son'. Up on Thursday, Nov. 4th.

* * *

The Fenton Ghost Portal (their first and finest invention to date), the Fenton Ghost Weasel, the Fenton Finder, Fenton Booooo-merang, the Fenton Ghost Catcher, Fenton Specter Deflector, and the Fenton Thermos (although he still wasn't sure how it worked). The Specter Deflector and the Fenton Ghost Shield.

He'd made the Fenton Grappler (Jazz still hadn't forgiven him for that one), the Fenton Ghost Fisher (also good for fishing), and the Fenton Ghost Gloves.

He'd broken new ground in the field of EVP recording and translation with his Ghost Gabber and Fenton Phones.

Transportation was no problem. He revolutionized wingless flight with the Specter Speeder (although he had yet to take it on the planned test-drive through the Ghost Zone.) He had a fully functional Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle, password protected, with an entire arsenal of ghost fighting weaponry and working portable class-C ghost shield of its own. He even had the Emergency Ops Center, able to defend the house from any sort of threat, ectoplasmic or other. It had radio center, weapon storage lockers, (and even a guest bedroom). The best feature, in his opinion, (aside from the emergency ham) was that in especially dangerous emergencies, it could detach itself from the roof and turn into a blimp or even a supersonic jet. The house itself was equipped with Fenton Works Anti-Creep Mode (specially installed after Jazz dated that biker punk who broke into the house. You can't be too careful when raising a teenage girl.)

He'd created so much offensive weaponry that the Fenton Weapons Vault was bursting at the seams, even with the equipment that would randomly go missing. He'd slapped his name on ghost fighting doodads of all types: Fenton Ghost Peeler, Fenton Foamer, Fenton Bazooka, Fenton Wrist Rays, and Fenton Double Bladed Ecto-Staff. He'd pioneered with the Jack o' Nine Tails, the Fenton Crammer, and the Fenton Wraith Wrangler. There were all the gadgets wired directly into the Fenton Jumpsuits. Heck, he even had a Fenton Anti- Creep stick. Maddie insisted it was just a bat with the name Fenton on it. He persisted that it was still in Beta. He even had a mostly functional Ecto-Skeleton before that ghost-kid stole it during that massive ghost invasion. He was so close to working out the kinks, too.

His eyes alight with enthusiasm, Jack sat himself down at his favorite workbench and began to think about his next weapon. He couldn't wait to see what today would bring.

* * *

A/N: Gah! I don't ever want to type Fenton that many times in a row ever again. Cannon items not mentioned in this story: the helmet for playing video games, the Ecto-Exodus Alarm, the Ecto-Converter, Ecto-Dejecto, the Fenton Flush on that clear containment cell, those ATV hover things in the Fenton Jet, the virtual reality helmet, gloves and boots Jazz used to workout, the quick-cooking, food-mutating hotdog thing in season one, and the Ecto-Stoppo-Power-ifier. Let me know if I've missed anything, I could really use the word count boost it would give me.


	38. Dance With Me 35

Challenge topic #35: Dance with Me  
Character(s): Sam Manson, Danny Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. Beware: Fluff ahead.

* * *

He found her behind a flower arrangement near the restrooms. "Hey. Why are you so upset? I thought dinner went pretty well."

"I hate them so much sometimes. I hate them." Sam struggled to hold back tears of rage.

Danny rolled his eyes a little and grabbed her hand, tugging a little. "It wasn't so bad."

She shook her hand free with a violent wrench, leaning into his face. "Not so bad? Danny, don't you even realize? The only reason they invited you was to belittle you in front of their stupid, stuck up friends."

"Yeah, I kinda picked up on that even before we got here tonight. And the sneers and syrupy sweet insults were a pretty big hint. But I thought I did pretty well. It was sorta tricky there for a minute with all ten-thousand forks and spoons and different little cups and such, but I just watched what you did. No problem." Danny shrugged.

Sam leaned back against the wall with a sigh. "I guess. Your witty banter has improved lately. You kept up with the conversation, so all they really had to mock you for were the same things they always mock you for." She rubbed tiredly at her face, but managed a small, strained smile.

Danny joined her on the wall. "Exactly. They ran out of material pretty quickly, I made sure not to talk about anything I didn't already know about and by the time desert was cleared away, I'd managed to charm more than half the table onto my side. Total Win."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "More than half is still less than total, Danny."

He grinned unrepentantly back at her. "Whatever, you know I'm bad at math. Point is, having to deal with Vlad has taught me how to deal with smarmy, snobbish, rich jerks without making a total fool of myself. Who knew the Fruit Loop would actually be _good _for something?" He paused for a moment to look thoughtful. Shaking it off, Danny continued, "And admit it, I look the part. Neat suit, sparkling personality, and tidy hairdo, I've got the whole package!"

Sam's smile was more genuine this time. "Fine, you clean up good. But Danny, as well as you've done so far…"

Danny cut in, pushing himself off the wall and waving his broadly at his suit. "Just don't expect this kind of thing every day, because this suit is really uncomfortable…," he tugged at the collar and tie.

Sam tried again, "Danny, dinner wasn't the only…"

His eyes were twinkling and he was fighting a smile as he interrupted again. "And I had to take out a small loan to afford enough hair gel to get this mess to lie flat…," he patted carefully at his coiffure.

"Danny!" Sam hissed.

"Sam!" Danny whispered right back. He was smiling full-out by now.

She stamped her foot, absently noticing that it didn't have the same effect without the boots. "The night's not over yet. Since this is a country club function, we're going to be expected to dance for the rest of the night."

Danny nodded complacently. "Um-huh, it said so on the invitations."

The frustrated tears were creeping forth again. Sam tried to explain to her aggravatingly dense date. She didn't want those horrible people to even have a chance to 'win' tonight. "Danny, I know you're good at that '80's style dancing your folks taught you, but this is all formal dances."

Danny faked a look of concern. "Yeah, about that. I only have one question."

"What's that?"

He pulled the small square of cloth from his pocket. "Am I actually allowed to use this stupid little handkerchief, or is it only here for show? Your mascara is running a little bit."

Sam took it with a muttered 'thanks'. She hurried to the nearest mirror and pulling mascara from somewhere in her cleavage. Immensely interested in the process, Danny leaned in for a closer look, only to meet a gentle but firm full-hand-to-the-face shove. "You're actually supposed to have a second one on you if you expect to need it. But I can fold this one back up to hide the smudges." She suited deed to word, tucking it neatly away, "But what are you going to do about the dance?"

Danny shrugged. "I've got it covered. I hope those shoes are comfortable, because you're going to be on your feet for the rest of the night. Come on. Dance with me." And he pulled her back to the dance floor in time for the music to start.

Waltz, Tango, Viennese, and Foxtrot, they danced them all, and they danced them well, earning admiring looks from the surrounding guests.

"Danny." Sam said suspiciously.

"Ye-ess?" he sing-songed back at her.

She led him off the floor to take a break, before rounding on him accusingly. "Where did you learn how to dance?"

"Guess."

Sam smirked back at him, mood much improved from earlier. "Twenty questions?"

"Works for me." Danny said agreeably.

"Did you learn from a human?"

"No."

She tapped a slender finger against her lips. "That means ghost. Female?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"Desiree?"

"No."

Sam crossed her arms and leaned back into one hip. "Phew, because anything from her would be backfiring about now."

Danny scoffed. "Like I didn't know that."

Sam squinted thoughtfully at him for a moment before her eyes went wide. "Oh my God, Danny! You asked Princess Dora for dance lessons!"

His jaw dropped. "How could you possibly have guessed that in three questions?"

"I just know you that well. But seriously?"

Danny lifted his hands in surrender. "Yeah. I decided to go at this like any other time I face an opponent. Pull no punches. The only difference is that I had some warning and time to prepare on this one. Dora's actually a pretty good tutor. The only trick is getting her to _stop_ dancing."

"Wait. You're thinking about my parents and their set as opponents?" Her surprise transformed into a wickedly hungry grin. "Any chance you could shoot them a little with some ectoblasts?"

He laughed at her. "Be good, Sam. The goal for tonight is 'good impression', not 'terror and minor burns'."

"Darn." She snapped her fingers in mock defeat, only to notice him hiding a puff of blue mist from his ghost sense. "Oh no, do we need to go take care of that?"

"Nope. It's just the fee I'm paying for the lessons." He pointed over to the far side of the room where an attractive blonde in sparkling evening dress was joyfully gliding across the dance floor in the arms of her latest partner. "One evening full of dancing at the 'Ball'."

Sam stared in shock. She recognized Dora's 'human' form from that fiasco with the Beauty Pageant. "When did she get here?"

"Just as you ran out after dinner. You will not believe the cred I got for introducing actual royalty. Princess Dora Mattingly of Aragon. She just so happens to be a close personal friend, you know. I don't think your parents will be much of a problem anymore. Like I said, Total Win."

Sam could not have smiled any more widely. This evening had turned out to be the complete opposite of the total disaster she'd been dreading. And to think, if things _did_ go south at any time after this, they could still come out ahead. Dora'd just eat the offender. Total Win, indeed.


	39. Movies 33

Challenge topic #33: Movies  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Sam Manson-Fenton (cameo), and lotsa OCs  
Genre: General  
Rating: T for some language and a completely vicious legal beat-down

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.  
A/N: Post-PP and worldwide exposure. Feel free to hate my OC. That's why I made him.

* * *

"Mr. Brice?" The waiter glided into the exclusive private dining room at the gracious call of 'enter', "A Mr. Daniel Fenton and company have requested to join you for a short while this evening. Shall I show them in?"

Rafe Brice smiled a nasty smile and chuckled. "So the freak caught wind of the movie's opening, did he?" Grease and venom fought for dominance as they dripped in his voice. "He's either looking for a cut or he's here to sue me. Either way, he's got no leverage. Still, it would be a shame for them to have flown all the way to L.A. for nothing. Send them in. This should be entertaining."

He bared a predatory smile at the Fentons as they entered the room. "Mr. Fenton, Mrs. Fenton. May I assume you're here to toast what should be a record breaking Opening Night?"

Sam looked at him with undisguised contempt. "You may not. Danny, I've suddenly lost my appetite. Meet me downstairs when you're done here?"

Danny nodded and kissed her cheek. "No problem. We can order room service when we get back to our hotel. This won't take long." He stood at attention until she left the room. As the door snicked shut he pulled up a chair at the table, dropping a slim attaché case at his side.

Rafe sneered at him, smugly tracing the tired lines etched in Danny's face with hungry eyes. "Let me guess. You and your pretty lawyer wife have some objection to my little film? I can assure you that my own lawyers have covered every angle. I've already paid the fines incurred from the use of that footage my shockingly unscrupulous assistant supplied. Of course, he was fired the instant I was made aware that he'd stolen all those security tapes and had neglected proper channels when filming the rest of the footage. Poor, poor misguided Michael."

"Poor Michael indeed. I heard somewhere he'd died?" Danny relaxed back into his chair at a slight angle to the table, one hand resting casually palm down on the snowy tablecloth. He locked eyes with his tablemate, never allowing his attention to waiver.

Rafe shook his head with exaggerated sadness. "Overdose. Maybe those ethics caught up with him after all, and he decided to end it."

"Tragic." Danny commented, tone flat.

"So why are you here? I'll tell you now that taking me to court will involve much more in the way of time, funds, and hassle than any recompense you can expect to get. After all, even if you do get the courts to acknowledge your rights beyond the blanket ban on imprisonment and experimentation, public figures such as you have no expectation of privacy outside of your own home. And even then…" he didn't have to mention the footage from his movie, taken from within the Fenton home. They both knew it was reeled and about to play in a limited LA/NY release tonight, with nationwide showings tomorrow.

Danny's eyes flared at the insult, but he maintained their usual blue hue. "Hmm. That _was_ irritating. But I have to say, you have a certain renown yourself. Are you telling me that…"

"Exactly. I certainly have no such expectations." If smug were liquid, Rafe'd be swimming in it.

Danny lifted an inquisitive brow at him, "Even in a so-called private dining room like this one?"

Rafe waved a negligent hand. "There are always paparazzi, the wait staff, and general hangers about listening at the door. No matter where you are. And, well… as my film shows and as you've discovered, even in the homey situations, there are those who are willing to bend the rules. Especially when the civil liberties of the less than human are still in debate. How is the missus doing on your case, by the way? Still tied up in the Supreme Court?"

Danny's eyes narrowed, although he never changed his pose of casual ease. "Don't worry yourself about that. Things are looking very promising."

The responding smile was greasy. "And I trust your dear wife has made you aware that regardless of the court's decision, my _already released _movie will be grandfathered out of any ruling? You can't shut me down based on any footage of you or your image that I've used." Danny nodded pleasantly, never breaking eye contact. "Well, as amusing as this conversation is, I'm going to have to insist you wrap things up. I'd like to enjoy my dessert in privacy. Tell you what, I'll even arrange for a couple free passes to the film as a nice little consolation prize. I don't imagine your parents are in line to see it yet."

"No, I don't believe they are. So… just a few items of business before I let you get on with the very busy evening you no doubt have in front of you. One, I'd like to congratulate you on getting this movie all the way through production and on its way to the theaters without word getting back to me. That has to be some kind of record for a notoriously gossipy town like Hollywood." Danny reached down to lift his attaché to the table beside him.

"I am rather proud of that fact." Rafe finished his main course with a generous bite of rare steak.

"Second, although I can assure you that I am not personally seeking any compensation for myself from you or your production company regarding the invasion of my privacy and abuse of my image... I _am_ asking for this." He placed a contract down on the table between them.

"And what _is _this?"

Danny slid the sheaf of papers across the table as the waiter cleared the plates. "This is an agreement stating that you will pay a sum of thirty million dollars to the Amity Park Trust to aid their efforts towards the support of victims and the restoration/ rebuilding of properties damaged due to supernatural activity. They've made some rather ambitious plans recently to enact a global support network based on U.N. models. I think it's a worthy cause. Don't you?"

Rafe scoffed openly, "No. What makes you think I'd chip in for such a thing, let alone give thirty _million_?"

"Well, my first appeal will be to your conscience. It really is a good cause, and they will be working in tandem with other non-profit organizations such as the Red Cross, UNICEF, etc. Among other things, the expanded organization will help educate people about what constitutes a genuine attack by a supernatural force in an effort to curb the murders of innocents and the 'witch burning' that still goes on in many parts of the world to this day. A nice little start-up donation like this would go a long way towards that goal. What do you say?" Danny leaned back into his casually confident pose once more.

"I still say no." Rafe's expression plainly indicated he thought his time was being wasted.

Danny laughed with genuine humor. "Yeah. I pretty much thought that it would be a lost cause, but figured it couldn't hurt. My second appeal will be to your vanity. It would be good PR. Philanthropy is always looked on favorably by the masses."

"The masses can **^^^%&())&^%&* *%*&%*(*^*%%* for all I care. Just as long as they see my movies first."

Danny sat for a moment in shock. "Wow. I didn't think that was physically possible." He shook it off. "Alright, that brings me to my third and final appeal. I'm appealing to your sense of self-preservation."

Rafe leaned forward, both hands on the table, and hissed with his teeth bared, "Are you threatening me?"

Danny wore a little smirk of his own. It was somehow much more ominous than it should have been. "Not at all. I'm just informing you. The Supreme Court reached a unanimously positive verdict concerning my case this morning. Regardless of any powers I've accrued during the course of my life, I am and have always been fully, _legally_ human. I am due all the rights and privileges of any other person on the planet, as well as those rights granted to me by being born a citizen of the United States."

Rafe slashed his hands viciously through the air between them. "That doesn't change anything. You aren't getting anything from me, either for yourself or your pet project. I already told you that my movie is Grandfathered in. Any judgments made after close of production on the film have no bearing on it. I paid my lawyers enough to make sure of that."

Although Danny didn't move or change his expression, Rafe was suddenly aware of the poised and sharply focused predator sitting just across the table. Danny's eyes still did not waver. "And I've already told you that I'm not looking for anything for myself. You didn't let me finish. Immediately after the ruling passed, the President of the United States and the Secretary-General of the UN formally deputized me as the official liaison between the Human world and the Ghost Zone. Does the name Harold Mendel ring any bells?"

"H-harold?" The self-assured, confident movie producer was gone.

Danny's smile was brilliantly malicious. "Gee, you look pale. Why don't you take a sip of water? Mr. Mendel was your lawyer himself back in the day, wasn't he? As Official Liaison it is one of my tasks to facilitate relations between humans and ghosts. This includes victim advocacy for those who've passed beyond the veil and have found themselves in the Ghost Zone. Now, I'm sure you'll be horribly distressed to hear that he doesn't have many clear memories of his death beyond the fact that he was murdered."

"…distressed…" Rafe nodded numbly.

Danny continued, "He assures me that his memory is likely to stay clouded for the rest of his existence. All he has asked of me is to pass on his regards and to ask you, in memory of your friendship, that you find it in your heart to sign this contract he worked so hard to draft and make the donation it stipulates."

Rafe regained some of his poise, slapping his hands down on the table in indignation. "This is blackmail. That snake got what he deserved."

Danny chuckled, "Heh, that's pretty much what he said. Which is why he doesn't presently have any plans to pursue the matter. In any event, I'm just facilitating his wishes. He has assured me that a signature and transfer of funds on your part will guarantee that he will never divulge to any legal representative of the Human world the name of his killer or the location of the weapon that killed him. I have to add that this is completely against my advice. Testimony of the deceased can't be presented in a court of law, or be compelled… _yet_. However, inside knowledge of the case leading investigators to evidence _does currently_ fall under the same laws that govern 'anonymous' tips. If he ever were to remember…"

Rafe bared his teeth. "Fine. Where do I sign?"

Danny indicated the line at the bottom of the contract. Once it was signed and back in his possession, he handed Rafe a cell phone. "And here's a direct line to your banker to make the transfer."

"Now?" Rafe asked, incredulous.

"Now."

Rafe complied with ill grace, throwing the phone back across the table. "There, now get the hell out."

"Not just yet. It _is_ getting late, so I'll be brief." He dropped the phone in his pocket and placed a number of envelopes, one by one on the table. He tapped the first with his knuckles. "This is a cease and desist order for your abuse of the Danny Phantom image and logo. Your movie is being pulled from all theaters."

Rafe abandoned all semblance of self-control. "You have no right! Even if the courts _have_ ruled that you aren't the freak we all know you are!"

Danny shook his head, "Mr. Brice, if your lawyers were half as good as the fees they charge, you would already know that while I_ am Phantom, _the name and image do not belong to me. They belong to my heirs, foremost among them my wife. _Their_ humanity has never been questioned and the Grandfather Clause you're hiding behind doesn't apply to them. My pretty lawyer wife is very upset with you. The symbol I wear was designed by her when we were fourteen and she copyrighted it the second my identity was revealed. You should have altered it a bit before you slapped it all over your advertising and merchandise. These…," he tapped each of the other envelopes in turn. "This one is a lawsuit on behalf of every citizen of Amity Park whose image you used without their written permission. Turns out it was each and every single one that appears in your film. This one is on behalf of the Amity Park Police and Fire Departments, pretty much the same thing. This is a defamation, invasion of privacy, pain/suffering, etc. lawsuit that's been filed solely on the behalf of one Samantha Fenton nee Manson. Did I mention that she is _very_ upset with you? These three are hers, too. And these here, well, you can read them later. You have been served. Copies are being presented to your lawyers as we speak."

The man could only sputter. "What… how did you… you bastard."

"Tsk. My parents really wouldn't like to hear such talk. Do you really want a slander charge on top of all the rest? As for the how… Harold?" Danny inclined his head to the right. His unwavering eye contact was starting to raise the hairs on the back of Rafe's neck.

Just behind his shoulder appeared the ghost of one Harold Mendel. "Hello, Rafe. It's been a while."

Danny's smile somehow managed to be both rueful and satisfied at the same time. "Nothing like a revenge obsessed ghost for single minded efficiency. While Mr. Mendel can't practice law as a post-mortal entity, the current laws allow him to consult with the living and licensed lawyers in my employ and in the employ of these folks here." Danny waved his hand at the array of paperwork between them. "Would you believe he has kept up on every law and legal precedent since he died? He had these drafted up and in our hands within two hours of the Supreme Court's ruling this morning."

Harold spoke up, bile roiling in his echoing voice, "I don't need to expose… my murderer," the implication wasn't lost on any of them, "in order to make your life a living hell, Rafe. You should never have let me see it coming. That need to gloat is going to do you in. Mr. Fenton, may I?"

"Sure, you've got to be pretty tired by now. Let go." Danny nodded, and gestured over his shoulder with his right hand. A cameraman and several movie-looking types appeared as Harold released the invisibility he'd been holding on them. "Mr. Brice, may I present the film crew _authorized_ to film me? They were only planning to cover my court triumph this morning, but…," he shrugged.

"You have no right to film me without my permission!" Rafe jumped to his feet, plainly considering some physical response to this latest affront.

"Did those words actually come out of your mouth just now?" Danny's bark of laughter was harsh. "You granted permission to Daniel Fenton _and company_ when the waiter saw me in. You waved any expectation of privacy, even in this _private dining room_ at the very beginning of our conversation. And you did it without prompting."

"I'll testify in court that we did not start filming until we had that consent." The documentary director in charge of this small crew couldn't believe his luck. As big as the coverage of the Phantom case was this morning, this would be by far more satisfying. Rafe Brice had stepped a lot of toes in his time.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Ah. That should be my final piece of business this evening. Come in, please."

"Mr. Fenton, you have a delivery." The headwaiter handed over an envelope.

"Thank you. Yes, I was expecting this." Danny said, reviewing its contents.

Rafe collapsed in his chair, deflating entirely. "What do you have for me now, you…"

Danny didn't look up from the papers in his hand. "You probably shouldn't finish that sentence. This isn't actually mine. It belongs to the gentlemen standing behind me. Michael, you can let go now, too." He held the contents of the envelope up to the men who appeared just behind his _left_ shoulder. "Mr. Brice, may I present Detectives Stanton and Moore of LAPD Homicide? And you probably remember your former assistant, Mr. Murata. His _tragic_ death occurred only a couple of months ago, after all."

Detective Moore advanced on Rafe, brandishing the paperwork. "Mr. Brice, we have here a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Michael Murata."

Michael's voice echoed ice-hard through the room. "Harold told you your gloating was going to do you in. You shouldn't have let _any of us _see it coming. But you just had to rub it in. I'm not your only victim, just the first to come forward to Phantom. This is the only the beginning." Everyone in the room could tell that only Danny's presence and the promise of human justice prevented Michael from exacting his own vengeance.

Harold indulged in some gloating of his own. "And I'm going to help represent them all. I never enjoyed pro-bono work so much when I was alive. Aren't you regretting making your little 'home movies' of Phantom now?"

Danny stood for the first time since Sam had left the room, and his presence suddenly dwarfed everyone inside. He turned to the detective nearest him as the man's partner finished reading a shell-shocked Rafe Brice his rights. "Detective Stanton? If you don't mind, Mr. Murata and I will come in to make our statements late tomorrow morning. I'm still on Washington D.C. time and it has been a very long day. I'll make sure to have a copy of this footage for you when I arrive." Once he'd received the nod, Danny exited to find his wife and their portable Ghost Zone Portal Generator, followed closely by the two restless dead.

The detectives looked at each other. "Wow. Remind me never to cross that guy." They then looked at the mountain of lawsuits covering the table. "Or his wife."

The end.


	40. Simple Advice 99

Challenge topic #99: Simple Advice  
Character(s): Danny Phantom, Sam Manson  
Genre: Romance  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.  
A/N: The kiss during PP. You've seen this all a hundred times before from much better authors, but I've been reading dark, depressing stuff. I need some fluff! Actions, _Danny's thoughts._

_

* * *

_

The weather had reached its highpoint: sunny and calm with a brisk temperature of two below. Danny stood outside the hastily constructed operations tower with his sister and Sam. Their last hope portal would open up over the Pole any minute.

_Satellites are tracking. Tower up and running. Communications are set. Jet is ready. Got the map. What am I forgetting?_

Jazz, always more emotional than she was willing to let on, had hugged him for luck and retreated back inside. Danny didn't look back at her once he'd seen her on her way. He'd seen the way her cheeks had turned bright red and her eyes had sheened over with tears. He forgot sometimes how much the cold had affected him before his ice powers. 'Warm' as it was, the conditions out here were still brutal for normal humans. And he knew he didn't dare believe her suppressed tears were due to any other cause, because then he'd start thinking about just what he was doing. He'd start second-guessing.

_There's no time. Equipment checked and double-checked. Wings and runway de-iced. What am I forgetting?_

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and then Sam was there beside him. She took his hand, put something into his palm, and wrapped his gloved fingers around it. Danny looked down and stared in blank minded surprise. The ring? She took a deep breath, standing oh so close. "It's the ring you were gonna give Valerie. You asked me to hold it, remember? Something tells me it was really meant for me." She flipped the ring over in his hand so that they could both read the word engraved inside.

_Sam. How on earth did I forget that her name was engraved inside? What was I thinking? Valerie then Sam, which one was I hoping wouldn't notice?_

Danny's concentration on the task ahead went down without a ripple as he tried to come to grips with the simple ring in his hand. He should be thinking about the end of the world, but he couldn't take his mind off the possibility that _his _world was about to end. Why was she giving it back? Was she trying to tell him she didn't want it… didn't want him? And what was she doing to him, pulling this at such a time?

She steeled herself, swallowing against a suddenly very dry throat. "Take it with you, but promise to bring it back."

Now he was completely confused. Why was she giving it to him if she wanted it back? Sam took his hand, wrapping it in her own gloved fingers, the ring inside. "If you promise, then… then I know I'll see you again." She released his hand again, looking embarrassed.

_Well, that was pretty corny… so why did it make me feel so warm?_ _There's no time. But when will I find a better time? I know, it's time to make sure that she knows, too._

He dropped the ring into his pocket, thinking fiercely. Fifteen, almost sixteen years of sage advice, romantic movies, checkout aisle articles, and firsthand observation and it wasn't nearly enough. Danny had no idea what to do.

_Any minute. End of the world. No time. So much to tell her. No idea how to say it all._

"If we make it through this—"

"_When_ we make it through this."

He smiled, feeling a tickling effervescence in his core, brightening everything despite the situation. His very own Goth Optimist, one of a kind. "Right. _When_ we make it through this… I… I have a few things I… need to talk to you about."

_Since when had he given his stomach permission to go intangible without the rest of him along for the ride? Gonna be sick. So not the last memory he wanted to leave her if…_

Sam smiled and suddenly Danny was whole again, filled with simple buoyant joy. "I think I'd be willing to listen. And no matter how this thing ends… This whole ride we've been on together? I wouldn't change it for the world." She took both of his hands this time. "Not one little bit."

_Any minute. End of the world. No time. _

Danny took her shoulders in his hands, pulling her even closer to him. All that advice and he _still_ had no idea how to tell her. "Me neither. I—"

Then she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was an innocent kiss, a simple good-bye. It wasn't enough. Danny's eyes watched her as she pulled away. Sam looked down to avoid his gaze. He took her chin in his hand to tilt her face up to his. He would have laughed if it weren't so inappropriate to every situation he faced at this moment. Fifteen, almost sixteen years of advice from too many sources to count and it came down to this. It crystallized into this one moment and a phrase that never failed to bring a chuckle out of him before this. Danny knew now that no matter how cliché or lame it might have sounded, it was probably one of the most profound things he'd ever heard.

Keep It Simple, Stupid! _And what does that spell?_

It was the end of the world. At any minute, that natural portal would appear and he'd have to leave. But there was just enough time for this. They stared into each other's eyes for an eternal moment, and then he pulled her towards him. He pushed forward and sealed their lips in a kiss, a _real_ kiss. It wasn't enough, still not nearly enough, but it would do for now. He knew with a giddy sort of singing in his bones that he didn't need powers to fly. His hands smoothed up her smooth, chilled cheeks and into her hair, holding her close, as he'd _never_ dreamed would be possible. They pulled apart, breathless.

"Wow. Remind me to save the world more often."

She looked like she was going to fly as well, laughter lighting up those amazing amethyst eyes. "Go."

And just like that the looming specter of potential failure and all that it would mean was banished into the ether, non-existent. Danny didn't know whether to blame swelling hormones or a developing ghostly obsession. He didn't know where things would go from here. But he _knew_ it wasn't nearly enough, and that there wasn't a power in the Universe that could stand in the way of him coming back for more.


	41. Space 95

Challenge topic #95: Space  
Character(s): Maddie, Danny, and Jack  
Genre: Family/Humor  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

"Danny. You're so twitchy, sweetie. What's the matter? Oh dear, you didn't get into your father's fudge stash did you?" Maddie glanced at him from where she was working to fix Jack's latest invention.

"No, mom. I know better than that. I just…" Danny dropped his head and turned away a bit to hide the fog of his ghost sense as it billowed forth again. He coughed, covering his mouth.

She stopped what she was doing to cross the floor space between them and put a hand on his forehead. "Are you sick?"

He shook her off, "No, I just have to go, um… I have to go to the bathroom."

"Right now?" She skeptically raised a single brow.

"Yes." Danny replied with absolute seriousness.

Maddie nodded, "No."

Danny could only blink. Huh? "No?"

"No. You've been putting off your chores all week. Hold it. You can go to the bathroom as soon as you're done cleaning up down here. There's not much left to do. It shouldn't take more than fifteen or twenty minutes." She pointed to the mess still overwhelming the lab space.

Danny made a pained noise of impatience.

Maddie rolled her eyes and broke out the 'persuasive mom' voice. "Oh, come on, Danny. You can't have to go that bad. And I don't want you disappearing into outer space on me until you've got this done or it'll be another week until you get to it. Now clean!" She gave him a little push towards the worst of the mess and returned to her work.

Danny sighed, but complied, cleaning as quickly as he was able to. He cleared the nearest workbench by sweeping his arm across the top and dumping all the detritus into the trashcan below. Coughing again to hide another puff of ghost sense, he kicked the can under the workspace and grabbed for the spray bottle of cleanser. A token swipe of a rag followed. Maddie frowned at him, "Danny…"

He looked at her innocently, "Yeah?"

"Do it right." He nodded, but gritted his teeth in frustration as soon as she turned away. Arg! There was a ghost and he had to…

"I AM THE BOX GHOST! BEWARE MY CUBICAL CORRUGATED CARDBOARD FURY!"

Danny almost collapsed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness, it's just you."

"What?" Both Maddie and the Box Ghost questioned him in confused shock, looking at each other and then back to Danny.

The Box Ghost gathered himself together and managed to shout. "THE BOX GHOST IS NOT _JUST_ ANYTHING! I AM YOUR DOOM! BEWARE!" Maddie took the opportunity provided by this distraction to edge towards the nearest operational weapon.

Danny could only be glad that the ghost at hand was so stupid. He wouldn't even need to transform. He casually reached up to a shelf overhead, grabbing a random box of junk. Tipping it out into the nearest cleared space, Danny hid the small container behind his back and moved oh-so-unconcernedly over to thumb open the Portal's genetic lock. Danny glanced over at his mom. She had the ectogun in hand, but was holding fire until she could be sure he was out of danger. He made eye contact and shrugged towards the portal. As soon as everything was lined up and all the players in their spaces, he finally replied to the 'threat'.

"Uh-huh, my doom, sure you are. Oh look, a box." He tossed the emptied box into the space in front of the now open Portal.

The Box Ghost leapt to take the bait, "WHERE?"

Danny rolled his eyes and jabbed a thumb at the pudgy ghost. "Hey, mom, shoot him."

One shot, a disconsolate wail as the spook was thrown into the Ghost Zone, and a second triggering of the Fenton Genetic Lock to close the Portal brought the lab back into blessed silence.

Maddie rushed over to give Danny a crushing hug. "Good job, sweetie! And you weren't even scared."

"Duh." He muttered under his breath. At normal volume, he said, "Thanks, mom."

Now that the 'crisis' was over with, Danny took his time cleaning and organizing the rest of the basement space. As he wrapped up he thought to himself that it was too bad he hadn't been able to push this job off on his dad again. Wait a minute. Ghost 'attack' in Fenton airspace and Jack Fenton didn't show for the party?

He put away all the cleaning supplies and asked his mom, "Where's dad?"

"He went out to put some things in the shed a while ago." She paused in her satisfied inspection of his work to reflect. "Come to think of it he _has_ been out there an awfully long time. Why don't you go find him and tell him to come in and get ready for dinner?"

"Um, okay. Be right back." Danny shuffled off upstairs and out to the backyard. No Jack to be found. He cautiously approached the shed. "Dad? Dad, are you out here?"

"Danny!" Jack's shout was strangely muffled.

Danny stuck his head into the shadowed space. "Dad?" The darkness made everything hard to make out, but things looked more… chaotic than usual out here.

"Can you give me a hand here, Danny-boy? I was chasing some darned spook out of our storage shed and he started a box-alanche. I'm kinda stuck." A pile of boxes, apparently covering one Jack Fenton, heaved a bit before subsiding.

Danny rubbed his neck. "Oh wow. Um, I'm not sure I can move all of this myself." 'At least not without using some very obvious, dissection provoking powers,' he thought to himself. But first things first, secrets weren't worth keeping if his loved ones were hurt because of them. "Are you hurt? Anything broken? Can you breathe okay?"

The pile of boxes shivered again. "Yeah, I'm fine; I just can't get out."

"Okay, I'm gonna go get mom to help." Danny retreated to the house to fetch some able bodied assistance.

Maddie rushed through the yard to the shed. "Oh, Jack, honey! Are you okay?" She started yanking boxes off the pile immediately, either tossing them on top of nearby stacks or passing them off to Danny.

"Yup. Just start digging. I've got this itch I can't quite reach." Some vague shuffling sounded from the space beneath the boxes as Jack rummaged around for something. "Oh, and Danny! You'll never guess what I found under here! Our Outcast caps! I couldn't find these bad boys anywhere, and they were out here the whole time. Isn't that funny?"

Danny made a face, replying in monotone, "Hilarious. Hold on, you're almost out." Together they shifted the last few boxes off of Jack and heaved them on top of the teetering piles on either side of the cleared space. Jack immediately jumped to his feet and started scratching his nose.

"Ah, that's the spot. You know? I was thinking while I was under there. We really could use some more storage space. What do you say we knock out that wall there and dig…" Ducking and dodging Jack's widely gesticulating arms put Danny in just the wrong place. A misjudged swing brought the biggest, most unstable junk pile down right on top of him. Danny disappeared with an undignified squawk.

"Danny!" his parents chorused.

He sighed, safely intangible beneath the freshly fallen boxes. "I'm okay. Dad? Why don't you just go through this stuff and get rid of some of it?" Since he had the luxury of remaining unseen until they unearthed him again, Danny used the opportunity to find an open space in the tumbled wreckage. The spot he found was a tight fit, but with his powers and a little contortion he managed it.

Jack's reply was muffled once more, but that didn't blunt the surprised indignation in his voice. "I can't do that! All of this stuff is of vital importance to me! We could stand to organize it better though. How about you and me do it together this weekend!"

Danny's groan of frustration was drowned out by the shuffling of boxes overhead. He could use some more space himself.

* * *

A/N: Couldn't think of a good non-cliché use of Space, so I just used the word 15 times in the story. Take that. Also, getting more play out of chapter 35, Go Outcast!


	42. Hide 83

Challenge topic #83: Hide  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Elliot/Gregor, Tucker Foley  
Genre: General  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or Disney's Jiminy Cricket. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

He'd seen Fenton giving him a dirty look as he walked out the doors of Casper High for the final time. Gregor (a.k.a. Elliot) had already been informed that his transfer into the next school district was complete, so all he had to do now was pack his things and go. Whatever Fenton was thinking (it was bound to be bad) didn't matter anymore. He had his orders and by next week he'd be someone else. He'd be introduced and in, ready to make the connections necessary to grift his way into another rich girl's life. In a handful of years, he might even pick a nice heiress to settle down with. At least for a couple of years. He'd have to ask Mom about prenuptial agreements. He wouldn't want to put all that work in and get nothing out of it. Not like this time.

Elliot walked down the street, reflecting on the utter failure this week had been. Izzy Weiss' great-granddaughter Samantha, heir to his cellophane fortune as well as all of the money from the Manson side of the family in this last generation. He still couldn't believe he'd blown this chance. An only child living in a small town, she should have been ripe for the picking… unsophisticated and untried, no matter what she thought of herself. His only competition, Fenton, wasn't even really in the running as far as winning her love. Or lust, it was really all the same in this game. The kid couldn't even see her as more than one of the guys. Easy. At least it should have been.

Elliot looked up in time to see Danny standing at the corner across the street, just ahead of him. The slight boy's eyes were narrowed and his face tight, no mistaking the dislike there. How did he get ahead so quickly…? And what was the little twerp doing here anyway? His house wasn't even in this direction. If he thought he was going to start something… Elliot strode aggressively up to the corner on his side of the street and waited for the light to change. The last of the cars cleared the intersection, and he started across, only to stumble to a stop. Where did he go? Elliot looked up and down each of the streets off this intersection, but couldn't find anywhere Fenton could have gone. Maybe he was imagining things.

Elliot shrugged off his confusion, continuing on his way home. His thoughts returned to Sam. It wasn't like this was his first time. He'd practiced on countless other girls. Get in, get 'em hooked, and put them in a compromising situation. If the family was embarrassed enough they'd pay through the nose to get rid of him and the shame. Sam was a little young for the 'knock her up' gambit, but that didn't mean there weren't other ways to… There was Fenton again, sitting on top of the jungle gym in the park over there. He… no, there wasn't anyone there. He must be seeing things. Anyway, it should have been a cakewalk. The identity was established, the falsified school records planted and officials taken in, and an introduction to the target assured. Fenton had been squeezed out of the picture the second 'Gregor' walked in the door. There were only two things he hadn't counted on. The first was that annoyingly clingy and interfering other-best-friend Tucker. Arg. Even thinking of the techno geek got him angry. The guy could NOT take a hint.

He saw Fenton ahead, leaning against the brick wall of a storefront, one leg pulled up. Before he could say anything, a customer swung open the shop door. When he looked again the boy was gone. A glance inside showed the shop was empty except for the cashier. Weird. The second thing he hadn't counted on was a couple of complete nut jobs in a jet plane shooting missiles at him. What the heck was that? Elliot paused mentally to think about that. He supposed he should be pretty proud of the fact that, although he did loose control in a spectacular and unrecoverable way, he only did so in the face of imminent explosion. That was something, right? Fenton was sitting on top of a fire escape in the alley across the street. This time, Elliot tried to ignore him. He never looked back to see if the boy was still there, glaring at him. The bus stop he needed to get home was just ahead. For a moment he could have sworn he saw Fenton sitting on the bench, but a blink later and the vision was gone. Even if that had been Fenton on the fire escape, there was no way he could have gotten down and all the way to the bench so quickly. No way.

Elliot took out his laptop and used the time waiting for a late-running bus to download and start reading over the details of the new identity Mom just made for him. He felt as if he was being watched, but surreptitious glances around showed no one close by. Next week he would be Cameron Brown, jock-type with a secret passion for indie filmmaking. His target would be the Martinez girl, Californian heiress to the Come-n-Go burger empire. He could deal with that. He was sick of eating vegetarian anyway. The bus finally showed, squealing to a rough stop in front of him and he stowed his laptop to board.

The bus was fairly full, but there was an open bench at the back. Elliot was halfway down the aisle when he looked up. Danny Fenton was sitting in his seat. He dropped his bag in surprise, tripping a bit over the strap before he regained his footing. When he looked up again, the bench was empty. What the…? Okay, he was just going crazy. That was all. It's not every day government stooges try to blow you up, after all. And he was in a high stress business, with a new name and new school every few months. Elliot waved his hand cautiously through the space just over the seats. Nothing. He stooped, bracing against the motion of the bus, to look under the benches. Nothing. Huh. When he sat and glanced out the window, he saw another phantom Fenton swinging its legs as it sat atop a wall alongside the bus route. Elliot closed his eyes. Real or not, that constant glare was giving him a headache.

When he got back to the apartment, he dropped his bag into his room and turned to help his mother pack. She maintained an icy silence until the take-out was delivered. Elliot knew she was upset, but really, come on. It wasn't like she'd even had a chance to settle into her own Con job. The persona of Rana Kovács would be easy enough to flip over into Ruth Anne Brown. He'd screwed up, sure, but there were _missiles_ for Pete's sake. Really, why was she taking it out on him? He ate and made small talk while the answer simmered in his mind. She took it out on him because that's what she always did. She blamed because she hated everyone, even the ones she loved. That's why he was on the grift with her in the first place. He'd started (and she had begun again) to scam people because Dad couldn't take the scheming anymore, even the limited intrigues she indulged in while she was 'settled.' He loved his mom, didn't hesitate to follow when she walked away, but sometimes…

After dinner and packing up the living room, he retreated to his room. He carefully locked the door behind him and closed the curtains, careful not to look outside. Elliot didn't think he could take seeing another Fenton tonight. Turning from the window he saw his laptop sitting on the desk. He didn't remember unpacking it, but with the way things were going today (and all week) he wouldn't be surprised if he'd just forgotten. He took the time to pack up most of his belongings before dropping into bed.

He'd barely crossed into sleep when he heard Fenton's voice.

"Who are you, Elliot Bowen?"

Elliot sat bolt upright in terror. What the? Fenton was standing at the end of his bed. He quickly reached for the bedside table to turn on the lamp, but when it lit the room was empty. He rushed to the door, still locked. He checked the closet and under the bed, nothing. He didn't bother with the window since he had no fire escape on this one and they were three stories up. Maybe he was dreaming. But why was he having nightmares about Danny Fenton of all people? The kid was harmless. But just in case, Elliot double-checked the rest of the packed up apartment. Unless the geek was hiding in mom's room, which he didn't recommend for anyone, they were alone here, locked in safe and sound.

"You really hurt her. And I know you were planning to do even worse, just like you did to all the rest. You can't hide forever."

Elliot spun in place, but saw nothing.

"Who are you, Aaron Kessler? You're not Naccio Volpe, named for the sly fox. You were never Caesar Pelligrini or Wallace McNichol. Jaques Pomfre was there and gone in a flash. You can't hide behind those names."

Elliot grabbed a still unpacked vase and swung it through empty air. "Where are you, Danny? Get the hell out of my home."

"This isn't a home, Elliot. It's a hideout. You're just kidding yourself if you try to call it anything else." Danny's voice sounded from all around him, raising the hairs on his neck and arms. He shivered.

"You've been at this for so long now. So many names. Paul Strasburg and Denis Draper. Pathetic. So many towns and broken hearts, and all you ever get out of it is a handful of money and a new identity. Even criminals in Witness Protection get to stay put once they've got their new life. You can't hide anywhere you go."

Elliot began to hyperventilate. The living room was empty, the apartment was empty except for him and his mom, but that voice just kept talking.

"Who are you, James Mayo? The skin you wore as Darrin Kelly suited you better. Do you even remember the name of that city and that girl? What was your mom's name there, again? Terri? Mary? How can you keep it all straight? Professional actors don't even go through this many roles. Do they, Zeno Savio? You can't hide from the truth."

Elliot withdrew to his room, relocking the door. He stumbled to the far wall and put his back against it, sliding down to the floor. He buried his head against his drawn up knees when the voice started again.

"It was a shame to kill off Toby Briggs; that one was kind of fun. And Marla was so truly sweet. What kind of person thinks it's okay to do that to such a wonderful person and then just walk away? You walked away, and put on the skin of Gregor Kovács, and wormed your way into Manson's life. On Monday you'll be Cameron in sunny California, violating Lynn Martinez. Just like all the others. You can't hide what you've become."

Elliot shook his head violently, eyes tightly closed. "NO! I'm not hearing this. You don't know anything!"

"I know everything, Elliot. I know you haven't seen or even heard from your father since you and your mom left home. Home, Elliot, because that was the last place that really deserved the name. I know you haven't really been happy since you left. I know that despite all of the humiliation money you've wrung out of these girls, not one penny of it has earned you true affection from your mother. And _you_ know it probably never will."

"Shut up!" Elliot's whisper skittered harshly through the empty room. Since when was an imaginary Danny Fenton his Jiminy Cricket? Stupid conscience. "Shut up."

Elliot looked up at nothing, tears streaming from his eyes. Fenton's disembodied voice spun forth again. "What kind of mother does this to her son? What kind of _person_ makes an underage child live this kind of life? It's wrong. And you know it. She should have stayed in Michigan, with or without your dad. The authorities are closing in and it's only a matter of time. It's time to go, Elliot. Go home. She'll move on to the next mark without you and you'll be safe with your dad when she finally goes down. If you're with him you won't have to deal with the indignities of Child Services. Not if you're already back with a caring parent. And by the time the authorities catch up with _you, _you'll have had time to work out a deal to testify instead of going to Juvie for all the scams you pulled together. Go home, Elliot. It's long past time. Stop hiding."

Elliot Bowen sat and sobbed until a cold touch on his mind sent him into darkness.

He woke abruptly, tucked warmly back under the sheets. A dream? The lights were out. Nothing had been disturbed that he could see, but his cheeks were still wet with tears. Dream or not, the truth stayed the same. He didn't want to do this anymore. He did know it was wrong. And he wanted, more than anything, to go home again. The 3am flashing at him from his bedside clock meant he'd be violating curfew if he left the house now. But that wasn't really a problem. His emergency I.D. said that Eddie Moore out of Brooklyn had reached the age of majority, even if he was a little undersized. A quick check of the computer secured him two bus tickets. The first was a 7am southbound towards Texas. Ed wouldn't complete that journey, though. At the first major station Eddie would disappear and someone else would take the next bus to Michigan and his dad. It would be good to be home again. He could only hope that his dad wouldn't turn him out. If he remembered Charles Bowen right after all this time, he knew that the loving man would never turn Elliot away. No matter what the boy had been up to. He grabbed the already packed bag of his most important keepsakes and a couple of bags of clothes. He slipped his computer into the specially padded backpack and in the outer pocket he put all of his own money and some of the bills from his Mom's hidden bank roll. He shouldered the load and slipped out into the darkness, only a note left behind.

Danny called Tucker from on top of the bus depot. "Hey, man. Sorry it's so late. Can you hack the cameras to make sure he goes?"

"Yeah," Tucker yawned from the other end of the line. "No problem. You finishing your over-night here when you're done?"

"Yeah. I just wanted to get him safely all the way here. Much as he hurt Sam, I didn't want him to get mugged or something on the way out of town." As much as he hated to admit it, Elliot wasn't as bad a guy as he'd originally thought. Some of the things he'd read had turned his stomach. No, he wasn't _too_ angry at Elliot anymore. Mrs. Bowen on the other hand…

Tucker's voice squawked through the earpiece of Danny's cheap cell phone. "Whatever, hero. I got all of that stuff you downloaded from Elliot's and his mom's computers and the hardcopy stuff you made me drag to the copy place. It's all on its way to the FBI. Mrs. Bowen will probably be nabbed when she gets to California. Are you sure she'll still go without Elliot?"

Danny's reply was as sad as it was tired. "Uh-huh. I picked it up when I overshadowed him to get him into bed. She's cold hearted. She might miss him a little, but at most she'll feel bad about loosing a valuable accomplice. Her target is too juicy to just let go. By the way, remind me never to keep a journal, either on my computer or in a book. It's just way too easy for the wrong people to get a hold of. I can't believe the info the both of them just left lying around."

"Hey, Danny." Tucker sounded suspiciously cheery for almost four in the morning.

"What?" Danny asked warily.

"Don't keep a journal." The other end of the line echoed with pleased giggles.

Danny could only groan. "Dude, shut up. It's way too early in the morning for your sense of humor."

Tucker scoffed at him, "Like yours is any better. Are you heading back now? I'm into the bus depot cameras and it looks like Elliot isn't going anywhere before seven."

Danny nodded even though Tucker couldn't see him. "I'm just gonna do another quick patrol before quitting for the night. You go ahead and go to sleep."

"All right, man. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Tuck." Tucker signed off and Danny dropped the phone into his pocket. No one could hide from him or Tucker if they put their minds to it. Especially no one who'd had the nerve to target their Sam. No one.


	43. Runaway 46

Challenge topic #46: Runaway  
Character(s): Dani  
Genre: Poetry  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

Imperfection, I

On my own, but not unloved

True father waits yon

* * *

A/N: Lame Haiku… because/ I should be cooking for my/ friends and family.


	44. Thrill 48

Challenge topic #48: Thrill  
Character(s): Danny F/P  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

Danny wasn't stupid, far from it. While he'd never have Jazz's book smarts, he easily met the requirements for genius. Unfortunately the same gene that bequeathed him his brains also doomed him to the Fenton Oblivious Curse. In Danny's case it usually manifested as cluelessness. Although a bit more grounded in reality than Jack, his thought processes were just too preoccupied with whatever had captured his interest to notice the bigger picture sometimes.

Like now, for instance. He should be thinking about effective tactics for fighting this ghost and the ones that would come after. He should be thinking about time management. Heck, he could even be thinking about what he should write for Lancer's latest inane assignment. But he wasn't. He was caught up in the thrill of the fight, and noticing the enjoyment he felt only sent his thoughts spinning off on that new tangent. He loved this. He loved the rush he felt from using his powers. Even when an unexpected blow sent him crashing into the concrete below, (oof) he felt the exhilaration that came with freefall and the knowledge that impact wouldn't really hurt. It was his very own rollercoaster, and he rode it every day.

And that got him thinking. He did this every day. And unfortunately he hated it as much as he loved the heart pounding excitement of it. He hated having to fight as much as he enjoyed using his powers to overcome the ghosts that invaded his town. lub-Dub. So what else did he have that could get his blood (or ectoplasm) singing in his veins? What kind of things set his heart pounding and made him feel… human… whole, no matter what form he'd taken?

There was the rare good grade from when he had time to study. lub-Dub. There were sunrises and sunsets, viewed from just above the clouds. lub-Dub, lub-Dub. And the enjoyment he'd learned from Sam of many otherwise insignificant jewels of nature: roses in the rain, the hot, dusty smell of pines in the summer, a bird singing in the trees. Tiny sparks of pleasure. lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub. There was the feeling he got from successfully showing up a bully (usually Dash) without getting caught. (And without using his powers. He'd learned that lesson the hard way thanks to Sydney.) lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub. There were the nights he spent staying up till all hours, blowing away n00bs in some online game with Tucker, or even playing versus to test each others' skills. It was always a rush to beat Tucker then. Danny might be better with strategy, but Tucker had reflexes honed by years of gameplaying and knew all the killer combos. lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub. There were the classic thrills of the waterpark or the rollercoaster at the pier. They were kind of tame compared to what he was doing right now, speaking of which…

Danny threw a high, hard right to make himself some space. Stupid ghost. He was in the middle of a thought here and… oh right. He was in the middle of a _ghost fight_. Duh. Time to focus. He knocked the specter even further back with an ectoblast and took in his surroundings. Tucker was waiting below and to the left, PDA in one hand and ecto-blaster in the other. Sam, where was… there. He smiled, everything was just right.

He flashed a signal at his friends below and moved into the setup. He flew rapidly in a right-hand circle around the attacking ghost, peppering it with small, measured ectoblasts. There was the sheer joy of self-powered flight, laughing at the notion of gravity. There was the electric elation of the power surging from his core, down his arms, and out his palms. lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub, lub-Dub. When the specter was suitably angered (and dizzy), he pretended to loose his focus again. There was the smug satisfaction of seeing everything fall into place as a hastily formed battle plan worked out exactly as planned. His heart was _pounding_ away now. Danny dropped his guard enough to draw the other ghost in, then let off a bright flash of ecto-energy in its face as it tried to deliver a finishing blow.

As it floated there, stunned, Danny allowed gravity to take him once more. He sprawled lazily in the air and savored the rush of air around him. The ghost blinked the spots from its eyes with a growl and dove in pursuit. Danny gave breath to a delighted chuckle just before hitting the ground. It really should be able to tell from his expression that he had everything in the bag, but it still rushed headlong into the trap. He closed his eyes, laced his fingers behind his head, and phased intangible through the pavement at the apex of their trap. Just before the ghost could plunge into the ground to find him, Tucker blasted it with his ectogun from the left, knocking it out of line. As it floundered, Sam opened up the Fenton Thermos from the right to pull it in and contain it. Danny phased back up to the surface with a wide grin of triumph on his face.

And then there was this… Sam smiled at him, eyes glittering in victory. Danny's mouth went dry. Everything around her seemed to glow as his eyes dilated. He shivered lightly with the flush he felt across his whole body. His breathing accelerated, though not from the exertions of the fight. He felt dizzy and weak at the same time he felt he might just be able to fly, even in human form. All his thoughts seemed to stop… at least until Sam poked him gently in the shoulder with a slender finger and asked if he was okay.

Danny hastened to reassure her. With a quick glance around, he shifted back to human. Grabbing her hand to tug her into motion, he told her he'd just been thinking (though she'd been the only thing in his head at that moment) and they should return to their patrol. Sam cracked a time-worn joke about not hurting himself and Danny was lost again in the deep, carbonated velvet of her laughter. His heart hammered away. If he'd been capable of cognition at that point, he might have realized that for him there probably was no greater thrill than this.

Behind them, Tucker pocketed the ecto-blaster to focus on his PDA and the patrol route he'd programmed into its memory earlier. He shook his head. "Clueless."

* * *

A/N: A little cliché, but I'm hurting for inspiration right now. The lub-Dub's are heartbeats, in case that isn't clear.


	45. Stress 85

Challenge topic #85: Stress  
Character(s): Danny Fenton, Mr. Lancer  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Go Fandom! Keeping good shows alive!

* * *

William Lancer heaved a sigh as he looked up at the clock. If he'd known when going for his teaching credentials that things would end up like this… It was becoming harder to see the positives in his chosen profession. He needed a vacation. "All right, students. Those of you who were tardy this morning to homeroom and those of you sent for disrupting class may leave. Those of you who participating in the food fight in the cafeteria owe me another half hour. Mr. Fenton…," He looked at his most frustrating student, "You and I will apparently be stuck here until the end of time. I suggest you spend at least some of the coming eternity doing your homework."

Danny rolled his eyes as his classmates chuckled at him. "Yes, Mr. Lancer."

A falsetto voice from the back of the room echoed 'Yes, Mr. Lancer' mockingly, but was quickly silenced by a glare from the supervising Vice-Principal. He watched long enough to be sure Danny was actually reading his textbooks, then returned to his perusal of the internet. As part of the administration faculty he did make more money than a straight teacher, but the several years long salary freeze due to the poor state of the economy was causing him difficulties. Alimony, a hike in his rent, and the fact that his car broke down on the way to work today only made things worse. He cast a baleful look at his students before attempting to lose himself in yet another game of Doomed.

At the top of the hour, he released most of the rest of the students. He prepared himself to drone on about the importance of diligence in one's studies to Danny, but the boy never raised his head as his peers fled the detention room. Hmm, that was strange. He'd been expecting at least a token protest. But it seemed he was fully involved in his schoolwork. How… refreshing.

After an interminable time devoted to grading Junior midterms, Lancer turned back to his computer and signed into his e-mail program. A short and very unwelcome note from his cousin informed him of his favorite uncle's passing. He bit off an exclamation of both distress and disgust. He'd have to attend the funeral, of course. But it was out of state and would be yet another drain on his already strained finances. And who sends out a funeral announcement with a five line e-mail? What happened to letter writing? He'd even accept a pre-printed card with a short note inside. But this? Lancer had to wonder if Uncle Neil had dropped Jeff on his head as a child. He was almost ashamed to be related to him. Danny glanced up at Lancer from where he'd been tucking away his books.

"Everything okay, Mr. Lancer?"

Lancer closed out the program with a look of disgust. "Just some unpleasant news. I really don't need this stress." He transferred his frown to Danny. "You still have nearly twenty minutes, Mr. Fenton. If you don't want to do your homework I'm sure I can find you something much more… interesting to occupy your time."

Danny widened his eyes at the threat and slapped on his best innocent look. "But I finished all my homework! Isn't being stuck here for another twenty minutes bad enough?"

Lancer looked at him suspiciously. "All of it?"

Danny nodded, "Yes."

"Even your English homework from earlier today? I was of the impression that you weren't in class long enough to actually receive the assignment."

Danny frowned back at him. "Tucker gave me his notes over morning break. I'm done with everything."

"Hand it over then, Mr. Fenton. We might as well get grading out of the way while I have you here. Telling you where you went wrong on the assignment right now will save precious class time tomorrow."

Danny once again rolled his eyes with the eloquence only a teen could muster, but handed over the ruled notebook paper. "Cranky much?"

"What was that, Mr. Fenton?"

"Nothing."

"Good. Occupy yourself by reading tomorrow's pages 115 through 130 in your text while I grade this. It shouldn't take long." Lancer readied his red pen with a certain relish. After a short five minutes, he raised his head. "Daniel."

"Yeah?"

"Bring your backpack to my desk." Danny complied, face full of confusion. He could only gape in open-mouthed shock as Lancer dumped it out, setting aside various Fenton Products ™ to inspect Danny's notes and books.

"What the heck are you doing?"

Lancer ignored him as he continued to flip through the various pages.

"Mr. Lancer?"

"This is your work."

Danny looked at him like he might have had too much of the questionable teacher's lounge coffee. "Yeeeeesssss."

"You spent all of an hour and a half reviewing for and completing not only the homework for my English class, but also your science and math homework."

"Uh-huh. I probably need to go over the math again, 'cause I'm lousy at math, but I'm all done otherwise." Danny's eyes were starting to narrow even as Lancer suppressed a wince of sympathy. He loathed math, too. "You thought I was cheating, didn't you? You were looking for proof."

"Frankly, yes. Your work here is entirely correct." He waved a hand at the 100% paper. "While you have proven that you are capable of this caliber of work, it remains a very rare occurrence. You can't blame me for being doubtful."

"Yes, I can." Danny frowned at him.

Lancer stood from behind his desk. "Daniel, why are you in detention today?"

Danny tightened his lips in a twisty grin, but didn't relax his glare. "Dunno, habit?"

"This is not an appropriate time for humor, Mr. Fenton."

"And Jazz always says humor is a very effective coping mechanism." Danny scoffed. He took a moment to center himself. Lancer had no real reason to be chewing on him like this today, and Danny didn't need this stress either. It was time to call him on it. The trouble was he'd have to do so very, very carefully. No need to let Lancer in on _all _the stresses Danny faced every day. He drew himself up into a stronger pose, squaring himself in front of his teacher. Mr. Lancer subconsciously moved to a softer, more submissive pose in response. 'Hmm. I owe Jazz a new book for those tips on body language' Danny thought.

Danny was careful to keep his tone low and even, never raising his voice. "Mr. Lancer. I get that you're having a bad day. I get that your work here at school is less than appreciated by a bunch of spoiled kids who'd rather be anywhere else. I know you probably get after hours grief from deluded parents who think their kids can do no wrong and deserve better than they've gotten. You just mentioned getting bad news. None of this is a good reason to take out your frustration on me."

Lancer began to interrupt in an ominous tone, "Mr. Fenton…"

"No." Danny held up a single finger, staring unblinkingly into Lancer's eyes. "I'm going to finish what I have to say." The man found his protest dying in his throat. What?

"You want to know why I'm in detention today? I'll tell you. I did thirty minutes for being late this morning. I did the next thirty for spending too long in the bathroom during your class. I earned both those and I'm not complaining. It was actually nice to have some quiet time to get my homework done. This last hour you tacked on? This is you punishing me for being victimized." Danny waved his hand in an abrupt gesture to cut off Lancer's protest. "Late to my last two classes? I got shoved in a locker. Again. It happens almost every day and will probably _keep _happening every day until I finally get my (long overdue) growth spurt and I'm too big to fit inside one of those things. Starting the food fight? You never checked the footage from _either_ of the cameras inside the lunchroom or you just don't care about the truth. The jocks pointed fingers and you never questioned their story. They started it with the band geeks over some imagined insult to one of their cheerleader girlfriends. I got caught in the crossfire. Damaging school property? There was a ghost and you know it. You ran for cover with everyone else." Careful now. "I couldn't get out in time, so I just kept my head down until it was gone. You came back in time to find me trying to work my way out of the debris."

Lancer looked thoughtful and a bit guilty. Which made Danny feel a bit guilty in turn. Stupid Hero Complex. He sighed and shoved his things back in his bag. "Everyone had a bad day."

Lancer startled out of his thoughts. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "I suppose so."

Danny let his shoulders slump and shuffled back to lean against one of the front row desks. "I know I have room for improvement, but I'm doing a lot better. I'm in class more and I'm turning in more and better work. I had… a lot of adjustments to make when I started Freshman year. Most of it is working itself out, but… you're not making this any easier. I'm not asking you to bend over backwards for me like I know you did for the C.A.T.'s and the Lit. test you let me retake. I just… It's like you've given up on me and expect the worst."

They looked at one another in silence.

Eventually Lancer found his voice. "You're right, Daniel. I owe you an apology. Perhaps if we discussed your problems in a parent-teacher conference. I…"

Ugh, this wasn't going where he wanted it to go. Danny broke in with a wince. "No, it's okay. Things _are _mostly working themselves out_. _ Just… How about we make a deal?"

Lancer looked at him, interest piqued. "What do you propose?"

Danny rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, dragging it up and over his head to scrub at his face. 'Can't believe I'm suggesting this,' he muttered before continuing at full volume. "Since I _am_ in here almost everyday anyway," and at this he looked sheepishly up at Lancer, "and I admit I do need to work on my grades some more… how about we make it a regular thing? Sort of like an extra study hall? Instead of punishment we make it productive. You sit detention all the time anyway, right? I do homework, you do grading or whatever and if I have a question I can ask you right then. Sound good?"

Lancer considered. "You're willing to do this every day?"

"Well, yeah, I just said I would." Ghosts tended to attack during school hours or when he was trying to sleep. It would take them a while to catch onto the fact he was still on school grounds after hours and that it would be 'just as fun' to annoy him there. Until they did figure it out, he could get some actual work done. "I reserve the right to snack, though. After school is my usual fast food time. I need like 4,000 calories a day just to function." If only he was kidding.

Lancer laughed at what he thought was a joke on Danny's part. "Well, we might have to negotiate that point later, but on the whole I believe your proposition is acceptable. Now," he looked up at the clock. "That is all the time you were slotted for today. One full hour of working on homework and whatever other catching up you have to do tomorrow?" He still couldn't quite believe what he'd heard.

Danny nodded, quirking a smile at his teacher. "Yeah, one full hour. Whether I've 'earned it' or not. I always get more work done during detention than at home, anyway. Things get kind of crazy there sometimes." He shouldered his bag and moved out the door. "This should make things easier and less stressful for both of us. At least a little easier. See you tomorrow, Mr. Lancer."

"Goodnight, Mr. Fenton." He gazed thoughtfully at the closed door. Less stressful, indeed. Maybe a little positive thinking was what he needed after all. It wasn't like he'd be able to afford a vacation.

* * *

A/N: I like Lancer, but it was still fun to write him as a complete jerk.


	46. Look Out 4

Challenge topic #4: Look Out  
Character(s): Danny Phantom  
Genre: General/Angst  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

The billboard is brightly lit in the failing light of day, colors garish and flamboyant. A couple, smiling too widely to believe, stands gleeful beneath the sign's message. 'Amity Park, a great place to live.' I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Not that I cry, really. Because guys don't, especially when they've got super powers. Don't want to ruin the image or anything. But that only leaves laughter, which I can't do either. Because with the way I'm feeling right now laughter would just come out… wrong. So where does that leave me? Balanced in the middle feeling detached, I suppose. Just right for a half-ghost.

I come in for a landing on the narrow building ledge below the sign, leaving my back unyieldingly set towards the display. Immediately after touch down, I let my hero mask slip. No one can see me here. Between the angles of the building to the street below and the landing-strip brilliance above, I'm lost in the shadows. Not even my slight ghostly glow can be seen, just like I want it. Patrol has been slow tonight. Amity seems to have a life and a will of its own, and it's waiting. It almost feels like it's waiting for _me_ to make a move, and that's got me fighting the urge to look over my shoulder. Which is just one more thing I refuse to do, because that would mean seeing that stupid billboard again. Not gonna do it.

I lean carefully back against the building's façade, head on fist and letting my leg swing over the edge. My free hand rubs restlessly at my face. I've been frowning too much. It makes my eyebrows itchy. I guess my sense of unease is natural, for me at least. I've been averaging a new power a month, sometimes more. I'm getting more powerful by the day and I don't know when, or if, it's gonna stop. All that uncertainty… it's making every nerve in my body stand on end and jitter. But I can feel it, you know? Something's coming. Whatever it is, it's big and it's ugly and it just doesn't care. It doesn't care that I'm barely holding on to powers I don't really understand. It doesn't care that I'm even here, standing in its path. And it probably won't even notice when it steamrolls its way right over me and everyone around me.

I look upwards at the stars. Not many are visible right now. Between the last sunlight streaking the sky in dusty pastels and the overwhelming wattage humming away from the sign behind me, most of the stars overhead drown in shadows. My faithful old friend Orion is cresting the horizon, but he doesn't comfort me tonight. The way I'm feeling… sometimes ghost is too accurate a label.

I'm frowning again. Where's my inner goof when I need him? I stand to look down on my town again. My town. Oh well, completely useless paranoia aside, it's a nice night to be out surfing the wind. I throw myself into the air, ignoring gravity with my usual ease. As I fly, I can't help but keep a look out, wondering why it's so quiet..?

I'll just have to wait and see.

* * *

A/N: Not going anywhere in particular. Just a little bit of introspection and Emo whining.


	47. Seasons 72

Challenge topic #72: Seasons  
Character(s): Tucker Foley, et al  
Genre: Romance / Humor  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom

* * *

He stood at the front of the class, drawing himself stiffly upright. Only the slight vibrations in the paper he read from showed his nervousness.

Of all the girls that boost my Winter  
I love those with locks of inky black  
You make my heart race like a sprinter  
Cold rouged lips taste like sugared snacks.

Now when I ponder girls in Spring  
I rest my eyes on crowns of red  
You catch my spirit on the upswing  
Hot-tempered girls like thoroughbreds.

High heat brings to mind in Summer  
Golden tans and manes of blonde  
You melt my brain and leave me dumber  
Of mini-skirts I'm terribly fond.

And finally to the girls of Autumn  
Tresses soft and burnished brown  
I cannot help but to succumb  
As I tumble into your eyes and drown.

The room was silent.

"Mr. Foley?"

"Yes, Mr. Lancer?"

"While that was an… interesting take on the seasons, it doesn't meet the requirements of the assignment I gave you."

"Why not? You wanted us to write a poem about what we loved about each season. That's exactly what I did. I was even gonna put in stuff about tech and meat, but I didn't want to go overboard. So I put them in poems of their own. See?" He held up two additional pages, waving them as proof.

Lancer wore a particularly hangdog look as he wondered what he'd done to deserve this. "The mind boggles… The assignment as given to this class was to submit one page of _prose_. The subject in this case was the 'Seasons of the Year' and how each makes you feel, and what you admire about them. You've written a poem… about girls… and their hair color, and loosely associated them with each time of year. While I applaud your creativity in attempting couplets, this has very little to do with what I've asked of you."

Tucker looked bewildered. "I thought prose was a poem."

Mr. Lancer rubbed his temples. "No, Mr. Foley. Prose is the complete opposite of poetry. To define: prose is writing or speech in its normal continuous form, without the rhythmic or visual line structure of poetry."

"Aw, man! Do you know how hard it was to rhyme these things? Nothing rhymes with winter!" Tucker pouted.

A voice from the back of the room offered, "Splinter."

"Minter," came another suggestion.

"Anything that ends in a vowel sound followed by '-ter', really." Sam tossed out casually as she inspected her nails for cleanliness.

Tucker turned a shade of red that couldn't be healthy. "Shut up!"

"Mr. Foley!" Lancer shouted.

"Sorry." Tucker hung his head and Lancer softened his tone.

"I can see that you have indeed completed a fair amount of work here, even if it was not in line with the assignment. So… I will accept what you've written as a 'get out of fail free' card. You are still responsible for completing the assignment, but you have until tomorrow to turn it in. You may return to your seat. Up next, Ms. Foster."

Tucker slumped back to his chair, escorted by the gentle laughter of his friends. "So, umm… can I see what you guys have? I'm all out of inspiration."

* * *

A/N: So not going to ever write up the tech and meat poems. No matter how much you might beg.


	48. Dessert 97

Challenge topic #97: Dessert  
Character(s): Jack Fenton, Maddie Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

Jack pressed his back tightly into the wall. He strained his senses, nothing so far. He was still alone. He grabbed the opportunity in both hands and slipped into the darkness. One, two, three steps followed by a brief pause. He held his breath. Still nothing. He could have been alone in the building tonight, but he knew better. Stealth was his only option.

A wide step to the right carried Jack over a tricky patch of flooring that would have betrayed not only his presence, but also his exact position. He mustn't trigger any alarms tonight. He heard his pulse pounding in his ears, thud, thud. _Easy, Jack. Take it easy. You've been over the plan a hundred times today alone. You can do this._

Bringing himself back under control, he eased along the wall to the stairwell ahead. Each step was undertaken with excruciating slowness. Probed with toes, weight deliberately placed, a shift of balance, and then repeated with the other foot. Down one flight and he paused once more at the bottom. The shadows of the airy room were mysterious in the darkness, unfamiliar and possibly dangerous. He carefully examined each in turn. He hadn't come so far on his mission to be foiled now. He would succeed.

Jack was about to enter the room before him when a sudden suspicion overwhelmed his mind. He whirled around, hands poised to grab. But there wasn't anyone there behind him as he'd feared. He breathed a nearly silent sigh of relief and mopped his brow. _Wow, this cloak and dagger stuff was really getting to him._ He'd thought he was made of sterner stuff. Jack moved cautiously into the room.

He crossed its interminable length, edging around obstacles. He crept with almost astonishing grace, avoiding any contact with the delicate hurdles that might betray him. Closer, closer, he could almost see his goal now. He resisted the almost undeniable urge to do a dramatic roll into the cover of some low seating on the right, but somehow held out. He scooted behind the furniture with less panache, but ultimately less risk of noise. Moves like that were only cool in the movies, still… Jack shook his head to refocus his thoughts. He strained his ears, still no one about. Perfect.

Kneeling on the floor, he took a sprinter's position. He braced himself, took a steadying breath, and ran! Two and a half long strides and he was in, tucked flat against the wall of the next room just beyond the doorway. So close. All that remained now was to find the item. He worked his way methodically along the nearest work surface, checking the cabinets above and below. _Nothing, nothing, nothing, interesting, but not what he was looking for, where could it be?_ If he'd come all this way for nothing…

No, that thought wasn't productive. There were still plenty of places he hadn't searched. He knew it was in this room somewhere. He just had to be patient. He proceeded to the next work surface, then the floor to ceiling storage unit beside it. Tall as he was, he couldn't fully explore the top shelf. He grabbed the nearest chair and climbed atop it to explore those last few niches he couldn't reach before. All he found was a long forgotten Christmas present, hidden and lost from memory at least two years previous.

Where the heck had Maddie hidden the fudge?

"Jack Fenton! Just what do you think you're doing?"

He spun, startled out of his mind. Flinging the still-wrapped gift at his surprised wife, he tumbled off the chair and into a slumped seated position on the nearest kitchen counter. His head thumped lightly against the upper cabinets behind him.

"Uhh, Merry Christmas?"


	49. Changes 40

Challenge topic #40: Changes  
Character(s): Danny & Sam, Tucker  
Genre: General  
Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

"Arrgh! That was a cheap shot, you dirty…!" His words trailed off he realized just what he was seeing. "… you… you… uhhhh."

Subject: Danny Phantom, who had just received a sucker punch from a no-name ghost who had no business being that strong and even less business being loose in Amity Park. The half ghost, caught off guard, was driven intangible through the nearest wall and straight into… Oh wow.

Status: Brain in complete and utter hormonal meltdown.

Danny looked up from where he'd sprawled on his butt, face a picture of unmitigated shock. The wall, largely indistinguishable from any other of the school's walls from the outside, was apparently protecting the Girl's Locker Room. And standing immediately before him, fresh from her post-gym class shower was an entirely unclothed and increasingly irate Sam Manson. The last shred of rational thought in his head told him in an oh-so-far-away voice that even if he lived through the pending explosion, he'd never live this down. The rest of him couldn't bring itself to care as it burned the sight of smooth, muscled planes and soft curves into his memory with a searing electric energy more powerful than the ectoplasmic current that had utterly changed his world at age fourteen. If he'd had enough blood in his brain he might have been able to put words to the realization that he wasn't the only one who'd undergone a largely unnoticed change. Since when did she…?

The only thing that saved him from his impending doom, with a capital Damn, was the timely reappearance of the troublemaking ghost who'd started this whole mess. It barreled through the wall after him, landing square in his chest with a crushing tackle and pushing him out the far wall. Their precipitous exit prompted a somewhat belated round of squeals and feminine curses from the occupants of the locker room. The girls scrambled for clothing and the exit, not necessarily in that order. Left in the dust, Sam stood, arms crossed and fingers drumming as she considered.

Later: Danny walked home after school with his friends, eyes very carefully glued to his shoes.

Tucker spoke up, concerned for his best friend. "Danny, man, are you sure you're okay? You've been off ever since that ghost fight this morning. Did it lay a whammy on you or something?"

Danny flicked his eyes up at Tucker on his right. Right was safe. Must not look left. Sam was on his left. " 'Mokay. I'm just a little tired. I'll just take a nap or something when I get home." _Or a cold shower._

Tucker smiled a Cheshirine smile. He was also concerned that he didn't miss out on a prime opportunity for teasing. "Are you sure? Because I heard some rumors about how the ghost took you on a very _interesting_ tour of certain off-limits areas of our hallowed learning institution today."

"I didn't see anything," Danny muttered the lie, eyes cast downwards again.

"Says the halfa who's turning bright red." Tucker started laughing uproariously.

Sam spoke up for the first time. "Lay off, Tucker. I was there. Nothing happened."

Tucker waggled his eyebrows at this new nugget of information. "You were there? How much did he see? Were you all nakey? Ooh, and the other girls? Were there body oils, and kissing, and…"

"Eew. Shut up, Tuck. It was a high school locker room, not a girls gone wild video. I don't even want to know what twisted fantasies are floating around under that beret right now." Sam scowled at him.

"Was there…?" Tucker persisted. Danny simply tried his best to become invisible without engaging his powers.

"Tucker! If he _had_ seen anything he wasn't supposed to, don't you think I'd be making a big deal about it right now?" Her face was a study in amused condescension tempered with just the slightest hint of boredom. No one would have ever guessed just how on edge she truly was at that moment.

"Pfft. Take away all my fun." Tucker pouted.

Sam rolled her eyes with supreme Gothic distain, "Like I said, Tucker. Don't Even Want To Know. Now, here's your street. Go home and drown your aberrations in internet X-sites, perv. Get it all out of your system before we meet up later for patrol. 'Cause I don't want to hear it."

"I don't ever…" She looked at Tucker, eyebrow raised. "… look at those kind of…" The brow cranked up another notch. "Fine. I look. But not all the time. I respect the ladies." His voice held a note of indignation.

"And their fine, fine bods." She quirked a smirk at him.

"A gentleman never judges based on appearance alone." He protested solemnly.

"Just go, before I have to hear your definition of gentleman." Tucker scoffed, but left for home. Danny, on the other hand was wondering why he hadn't come up with an alternative route home that wouldn't leave him walking… alone… with Sam.

His voice crackled painfully through the silence between them. "So… why aren't you making a big deal about it right now?"

Sam maneuvered around him so that he could make no further progress towards the sanctuary of his home. "You can look at me, you know."

Danny shifted his gaze from his shoes to hers. "I'd rather not see the end coming, if I have a choice. Make it quick and clean, please."

Sam stepped closer. He stepped back to maintain distance. "Do I sound upset?"

They each took another step before he answered. "No. And that's why I'm worried. Can you make some threats or something? I'm freaking out." Another step.

"Maybe I'll threaten you later. Right now I have a question." A final step and he found himself pinned against the wall of the building behind him, forced to look into her eyes to keep from looking down her… Looking at her eyes. Only at her eyes, because she was way too close for comfort.

She leaned in even further, a slyly calculating look in her fascinating eyes. "Did you like what you saw?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but the only sound that emerged wavered somewhere between a wheeze and a gurgle. She pressed up against him and he plummeted intangible through the sidewalk beneath their feet. "I'll take that as a yes." The smirk this time was decidedly smug.

* * *

A/N: Thinking of sex every seven seconds might be an urban/medical myth, but it has been documented as something upwards of ten times daily for sixteen-year-old males. Waking hours only. That they'll admit to.


	50. Heartbeat 10

Challenge topic #10: Heartbeat  
Character(s): Jazz Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

Psychology is my obsession. I can admit it. But although my special passion focuses mainly on the mind and its workings, it does not ignore the body. Physical conditions feed back into mental states and vice versa. Thus, the best way to ensure a sound mind is to maintain a sound body. Which lead me right into my current project. How does the old saying go?

"The beginning of health is sleep."

And I know a certain someone who isn't getting nearly enough. So I disassembled the problem, taking it apart to look at each of its individual pieces. The powers were here to stay. The admittedly limited research I've done on the topic indicates that long-term removal would be… ill-advised. Not a good idea at all, really. The ghosts weren't going anywhere either. That was the whole reason our parents moved here after college. This whole area is rife with ectoplasmic activity. Pinhole portals opened all the time to leak supernatural energy onto our plane and power the relatively harmless minor specters and memory based imprint type ghosts. Unfortunately, now that the Fenton Portal was in place, it seems a tipping point has been passed. Larger natural portals were a regular occurrence now, which mean larger, more malevolent ghosts. No, the ghosts aren't going anywhere either.

I do my best to make sure he goes to bed and gets up on time. I've been overseeing some of his snacking, making sure he gets at least some good nutrition… and that at least some of his food is ecto-contamination free. I corner him to make sure he's talked out as many of his issues as he's willing to discuss to ease some of the stress on his mind. He's getting better about opening up to me. I got him one of those comfy foam toppers for his bed. I'm petitioning our parents to soundproof our rooms. No luck there as yet, but I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it. They'll come around… on several topics currently under discussion. But I'm getting off topic.

There's only one further step I can take without being too meddling. And you can stop giving me that look. I'm a certified genius, soon-to-be professional, child psychology child-prodigy with a vested interest in the wellbeing of this subject, whom I know intimately. I know what I'm doing.

So, my project… child prodigy or not I'm going to need some help on this one so I requested the aid of my mother and her mechanical know-how. I told her that I'm doing a physiology study on biorhythms and the positive power of the most basic, primordial sounds of our existence on our psychological states in a kind of modified Mozart Effect. Who needs music when I can work with the rhythm that pounds through our very being? She rolled her eyes at me, but complied, allowing me to wire her up and to design a machine to my specifications. We decided that a night-time/ sleeping recording would be the most effective. Having secured said recording, I was briefly worried about the background noise of dad's snores. They were so loud that the equipment attached to mom had picked them up. After a brief consultation with her, though, I was assured that he'd always snored like that. It was why she'd invented the Fenton Earplugs. So the droning background cadence was just as key as the sound I'd initially been seeking. Listening to it myself, I found it… oddly fitting. It added a nice counterpoint.

She built the machine, set to broadcast on an almost subsonic level, more felt than heard. We set the recording to play on endless loop. The machine was wired into the bed with pressure sensor activation, so the act of lying down to sleep would activate it. And I tested it… on myself, of course. It needed some minor tweaking, but once we were done I can assure you that I enjoyed one of the most restful, peaceful, and deep sleeps of my life. Mom is taking steps to patent another successful Fenton invention, sharing the credit with me. I'm busy wiring the invention into Danny's bed. He's the one I intended this for, after all. To ensure his room will be his sanctuary, to make sure what sleep he gets will be restful, and to buttress his health just that little bit more, both mind and body.

I'm giving him the best sleep aid I could think of. The first sound we ever hear, instantly recognizable, no matter how many years it's been since we last heard it. The sound that soothed us and stimulated us from a time before we were anyone at all. It worked then, and I've just proved it still works.

A mother's heartbeat. Goodnight, Danny. Sleep well tonight.


	51. Stuck 31

Challenge topic #31: Stuck  
Character(s): Danny Phantom  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Danny's voice indicated an extreme reluctance to proceed with the plan at hand.

Frostbite nodded his head gravely. "Yes, Great One, I am sure. The doctors of my tribe have studied all available medical information for ghosts, humans, and what they have been able to observe directly about your physiology. This is absolutely necessary."

"And there's no other way?"

Furred shoulders rose in a helpless shrug as Frostbite spread his hands wide. "Well... this is the easiest way. The other options are truly not to be considered. All of them are extremely unpleasant and a number of them are almost certainly fatal. Even for yourself." He gazed solemnly at Danny in an attempt to sell him on the seriousness of their situation.

Danny could only make a face of disgust. "Typical." He rubbed his eyes hard, watching the sparks dance behind closed lids. Finally he looked up at Frostbite and said reluctantly, "Okay. Where do they need me to go?"

"This way, Great One."

The towering snow beast led Danny deep into the labyrinthine passages of the mountain, far beyond reach of the naturally diffuse light of the sky outside. The rough hewn path beneath their feet led ever downward, deeper into the darkness. An occasional flickering torch would illuminate a short section of the passageway. Danny lit his hand with a bit of ecto-luminosity, in part to keep from tripping on the uneven flooring, but mostly so that he didn't feel quite so helpless as he marched to his dreaded destination. The twists and turns of the corridor had, by this time, left him quite lost despite his solid sense of direction. He had no idea how long they'd been walking, since each step seemed to take an eternity. And now he had no idea how to make his way out of the maze again. There would be no turning back.

Finally, up ahead, they were able to see their objective. Unlike the dimly lit hallways leading to it, the doorway ahead was brightly illuminated. Although no obvious light source could be seen, the room glowed with a positively antiseptic splendor. The unfinished stone walls contrasted queerly with the sleek, modern electronics surrounding the room. Midway along the wall to the right sat a padded slab, inclined slightly so that the occupant would not be lying completely horizontal while resting upon it. Danny eyed it disconsolately. The fact that he couldn't see any restraints did nothing to make him feel better about this. He suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the chilly temperature of the room.

Frostbite drew the door shut behind them and indicated a garment hanging next to the bench. "I will leave you to change. The attending physician will be in shortly. He will be able to tell you which of your forms would be most beneficial to the procedure." Danny only nodded, trying not to betray how very much he was shrinking from said 'procedure'. Frostbite moved with eerie quiet out the far door. Danny quickly slipped out of his jumpsuit and into the garb provided, then stood awkwardly next to the table slab. He did not want to lie himself down like some sacrificial offering before he absolutely had to. Especially when he was wearing such uncomfortable clothing. After a wait that significantly shorter than the trek to get down here, the far door opened.

"Greetings, Great One. Are you prepared?" A soft voice preceded its owner into the room. Danny looked over at the door in time to see the doctor enter, wheeling a covered cart before him.

Danny tightened his lips, but replied as courteously as he was able. "Hello, Doctor. I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Let's get this over with."

The doctor smiled widely, showing fiercely pointed teeth. "You may call me by my name, Great One." He nodded his head over towards the table, indicating Danny should recline there.

Danny complied with ill grace. "I'll call you Meh-teh, but only if you call me Danny. I've never been much for titles, and 'Great One' doesn't feel right just now. Especially considering what you're about to do to me."

Dr. Meh-teh sighed a soft chuckle. "Such drama. Very well, Danny, but I must let you know that you will always be 'the Great One' to me. Both for your heroics and for sending me so many customers when you were training your ice-powers here in our realm."

Danny frowned at him. "You, sir, are not funny. Not even a little bit."

The smile widened even further. "Strange. I have been told that my humorous bedside manner puts my patients at ease. I have been led to believe that I would have been very successful in a comedic career, had I not chosen medicine." Dr. Meh-teh whisked off the cloth covering the cart with a showman's flourish.

"Too bad you didn't go that way. Then I wouldn't be here right now." Danny muttered just loud enough for the doctor to hear, carefully avoiding looking at the contents of the now uncovered cart.

Dr. Meh-teh laughed outright, folding the cloth to stow on a lower shelf on the cart. He straightened up and began a simple examination of Danny as he replied. "On the contrary, you would still be here, but you would be attended by Doctor Chuchunya. She thinks you quite adorable and might not be able to withstand the temptation to take you home to raise as one of her own."

He turned away to note Danny's vitals on one of the computer workstations, just missing Danny's completely freaked out expression. Danny managed to replace a stoic face the moment before the doctor turned back to him. His eyes involuntarily followed the doctor's hand as it moved to pick up the first of the instruments on the cart. Each tool was lined up on the table with exacting precision. They gleamed with fiendish brilliance under the sterile lighting. Mysterious fluids bubbled softly, glowing faintly with a nameless energy all their own. He paled.

"I need all of that?"

Dr. Meh-teh laid his free hand soothingly on the young half-ghost's shoulder. "It won't take long, Danny. It will all be over before you know it. Oh, before we begin, can you hand me that yellow meter to your left?" Danny looked to the left to see what Meh-teh had been referring to.

His patient suitably distracted, the doctor swabbed, jabbed, and plunged all in one swift motion. "Ah! Dude! Not cool!" Danny protested.

"You were becoming too tense. This way was much better." The doctor grabbed the next syringe and moved around the exam table to jab Danny's other shoulder.

"There is nothing _better_ about a sneak attack." He winced and rubbed at the injection sites.

The doctor shrugged, returning to the table for a air-injector, and setting down the traditional hypodermic needle. "Did it hurt? Does it hurt now?" He dosed Danny's neck with the third solution.

Danny paused, mouth open mid-retort. "Well, no. But I'm not a kid. You don't have to bribe me with lollypops to get me to behave."

"Are you sure? I have some tasty flavors." Dr. Meh-teh asked, jokingly.

Danny stared him down.

The doctor sighed. "Very well, just a couple left to do and you're done for your ghostly side for today."

Danny huffed, "Thank goodn... wait." Danny narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "When you say done, do you mean _done_ or 'done, but you still have to endure hundreds more needles' done?"

It was testament to how strange Danny's life had become that the sight of a ferocious, yellow-eyed, white-furred, sharp fanged and clawed, ten foot tall, ice-horned, spike-tailed snow monster hanging his head in sheepish contrition didn't even make him blink. Danny sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Can we wrap this up? I have to be getting home soon." The doctor's expression didn't change. "What?"

"As you've deduced, there are human vaccinations to be administered after these two remaining ghost vaccinations. Unfortunately, we've used all of the available injection sites on your upper body."

Danny blanched again. "You mean...?"

The doctor bit his furred lip. "Yes. I will need you to turn around. The good news is, that when you change to your human form, we can administer those remaining _human _injections in arms and stomach, as those sites will have been refreshed. And once the vaccinations have been completed, you will no longer have to fear any diseases in either of your forms. You should also be protected from any complications that might arise from your hybrid status."

Danny rubbed his face hard, slipping off the table and bracing his elbows against it. "oh, yipee." He endured the rest of the shots in stony silence, listening to the doctor recite the possible side effects and the need to contact him immediately should they arise. Once done, he flashed back into his ghost form and angrily snatched his jumpsuit off the wall hook. Doctor Meh-teh's final words stopped Danny in mid-zip.

"... and I'll need you to return in two weeks for the second round of follow-up immunizations. After that you will only need three more shots, the following week to be finished."

Danny glared at the usually affable doctor. "Not funny, doc."

Dr. Meh-teh clasped his hands tightly before him and dropped his head far enough that he had to look at Danny through furry brows. "I am no longer joking, Great One." Danny's glare sharpened at the return of his title. "Given the strength of these inoculations and the stressful lifestyle you live... it would be disastrous to administer them all at once. Your system needs time to acclimate between doses, and the final round of... honestly final, and just three... shots cannot be delivered at the same time as these compounds. Doing so would make you just as ill as, well... as what we are trying to avoid."

Danny stared at the doctor. He kept his expression blank as he finished zipping up his jumpsuit with deadly deliberation. He closed his eyes. He drew a deep breath. And he released it in an enormous sigh.

"Fine, two weeks. You'd better have better jokes by then." He managed a half-hearted half grin at the doctor, who practically collapsed in relief.

"I will endeavor to do so, Danny." Danny smirked full-out this time, honestly amused that they'd returned to a first name basis so quickly. "Our leader, Frostbite, will lead you back to the surface so that you may take your leave."

"Thanks, Meh-teh." He waited until the doctor had slinked out of the room before he muttered. "Still hate getting stuck, though."

* * *

A/N: Meh-teh and Chuchunya are different names for the yeti, or abominable snowman.


	52. Challenges 53

Challenge topic #53: Challenges  
Character(s): Danny Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

I can get in with a Bachelor's degree and three years experience, but a higher degree would look more impressive. D. Fenton, PhD. I like the sound of that. Engineering or one of the sciences or both, I just have to bring my grades up enough to get into a decent school. Then I have to _keep_ my grades up. No problem, right?

If I want to pilot I'll need at least a thousand hours of in-command time at the throttle of a jet. Maybe I can get into a test program somewhere. I don't want to consider the armed services for flight experience, right now. I'm not even through high school, but I'm really fed up with being told what to do. Enlisting is just begging for more.

Once I've got that all squared away, I've got to deal with the physical and mental portions of the selection process. Piece of cake, easy as pie, hide the fudge... Two years of training and evaluation, including military water survival. I can already do that, even though I'm in less than stellar (ooh, bad pun) physical condition. I can swim 3 lengths of a 25-M pool without stopping, and then swim 3 lengths of the pool in clothes and tennis shoes. It takes me a while, but I can do it. I can also tread water continuously for much longer than the required 10 minutes. It's like I was born to be in the water. I'm old enough to be SCUBA certified, and I've already completed the classroom portion online, so I just need mom and dad to spring for a class to complete the open and confined water diving. I can be done in three or four days, tops. With all of that out of the way, the flying syllabus and EVA training will be a snap.

There's a week-long process of personal interviews and orientation will be required for civilian applicants under final consideration that I've had Jazz prepping me for since I was eight. I can pass the background investigation as long as they don't hold my parents' occupation against me. The only thing left, and it could be a real problem, is the medical screening.

I can do a standard physical. My vision is better than 20/20 and my blood pressure is below normal, even under stress. There's an upper height limit of 6 foot 3 inches, and I haven't finished growing yet, but as long as I don't get as tall as Dad I should be okay. What's really got me worried are the blood tests. Drug testing isn't a problem, both because of my high metabolism and the fact that, well, I don't take anything. But what about the ectoplasmic contamination? It's at a genetic level, but what if it shows up? I've got to work with Sam and Tuck to run some tests of our own. This could be a deal breaker.

As for the rest of it...

All I have to do is: dodge bullies, pummel ghosts, avoid being blasted into oblivion by my parents or my ex-girlfriend, beat up ghosts, bring up my grades, punch some ghosts, keep the fruit-loop from screwing with my head, blast ghosts, do something about my lack of social/love life, thwart some ghosts, thwart Plasmius, punch some more ghosts, avoid being shrunk by Jazz, suck some ghosts into the Fenton Thermos, find Vlad a nice cat, fry some ghosts, graduate high school, prank ghosts, prank Masters, and make it home every night before curfew.

I can do it. This is my life. It's what I want. It's what I can do. It's where I want to go and what I want to be. No one and nothing is going to tell me otherwise. I've just got to beat these unique challenges along the way. Look out, NASA, here I come.

* * *

If we do not rise to the challenge of our unique capacity to shape our lives, to seek the kinds of growth that we find individually fulfilling, then we can have no security: we will live in a world of sham, in which our selves are determined by the will of others, in which we will be constantly buffeted and increasingly isolated by the changes round us. –_ N. O'Neil_


	53. Save Me 38

Challenge topic #38: Save Me  
Character(s): Danny Fenton  
Genre: General  
Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

He narrowed his eyes at his adversary. Although the battle wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting when he answered the call for help, he had to hand it to his foe... The little bugger was small, but ferocious. Danny was already covered with stinging scratches and abrasions. A clawed swipe had narrowly missed taking out his favorite eye. Well, he was fond of both of them, really... But that was beside the point. The point was that this should have been simple. A heroic answer to a cry for help. Ideally, he'd have swooped in, flashed some fancy moves, slapped on his hero-persona smile, and gone on with his life. But no... His target had to go and be difficult about the whole thing. Danny manfully suppressed an urge to just blast the whole mess to Kingdom Come. He knew that wasn't really an option, though. The little girl whose cry for help had first drawn him over here was still watching from nearby, eyes tearing and lip quivering. The whole drama had drawn an audience of slack-jawed lookie-loos, camera phones at the ready. He could already see the dozens of horribly embarrassing videos that would shortly be put up on the Internet. Talk about haunting. He'd have a hard time living this down.

The green eyed devil spawn leered at him, almost seeming to say "Oh, save me, hero. You're our only hope."

If the words had actually been spoken out loud, they'd definitely be followed by a mocking cackle. No doubt about it. The monster was pure evil. If only destroying it utterly were an option. Oh well.

Danny closed the distance between them again, eyeing the possibilities. The beast flexed its claws into the high tree branch where it perched. It thrashed its trailing tail in aggravation, keeping a very wary eye on him as he floated just out of slashing range. Danny couldn't blast, because he had to minimize damage: to the tree, to the spectators, and unfortunately, to his foe. Similarly, he couldn't just turn the tree intangible, because the fury of his opponent would be turned on those below, once it had been dislodged from the branch. Coming into hand to claw combat would only result in more injuries to his own poor, abused body. He wiped away a dripping line of icy ectoplasm from a stinging cut high on his cheekbone.

He had only one other option and it left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

Not only was this a power he had yet to master fully, but like his Wail, it was one he'd first seen (and had used against him) when he'd met his evil future self. Danny had to form an ectoplasmic containment bubble... An autonomous shield, self contained, and maintained indefinitely at a distance without physical contact with its originator (him).

He didn't like it, he didn't want to do it, and he certainly didn't want his townsfolk to see him do it... Whether or not he was actually successful. The whole situation just... Agh! Not only did it dredge up bad memories, but there was the public relations aspect to it. If one of his not so ardent fans caught on that this technique could be used to imprison "helpless humans" as well as his enemies... Man, the GiW would be glued to his butt even tighter than they already were. Such annoying (and potentially dangerous) hazards to public and ghostly welfare shouldn't warrant so much of his tightly stretched time.

His enemy just glared at Danny as he wavered, an unmistakably smug twist to its lips. He could almost hear it whisper at him, "Come and get me, Sucker."

"Fine, then. Let's just get this over with."

Danny crooked his fingers into tense a claw shape, calling the power forth and molding it to his will. A whispered mental command sent the invisible energies spiraling outward to ensnare his foe. A final twitch of his straining fingertips and a grimace of effort snapped the field into place. His bright green energies manifesting into material form... solid, strong, and stable.

Mostly. The shield bubble flickered a bit as he tried to shift his captured foe towards the pavement below. He concentrated, furrowing his brows in an attempt to block out the distractions of a crying child, a growing crowd, the cameras, the struggles of his captive, Tucker's camera (he almost faltered with the dread of whatever evil teasing Tuck had planed), the impatient way Sam was starting to tap her booted toe...

Agh! Focus!

The beast spit and thrashed within its temporary prison. Danny held the shield steady as it descended with agonizing slowness, off the branch, out of the tree, and to the sidewalk near the feet of the little girl who'd summoned his help in the first place. As she clasped her hands below her chin, and began bouncing excitedly in place, Danny released the shield. The furious cat instantly bolted away from his owner and the slightly worse for wear ghost boy, spitting and hissing the whole way.

"Mr. Fzbt! Wait!" she started to bolt after her pet, before skidding to a spinning halt and throwing her arms tightly around Danny's midsection. "Thanks, Phantom!"

He could only mumble, "You named your cat Fuzz Butt?"

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "His name is FZBT. Gotta go! Bye."

Danny blinked his bemusement. Whatever, it was time to make his less than heroic escape... er... exit. He phased into invisibility and drifted over to the nearest alley to change back to human. His friends met him there. Danny winced and suppressed the urge to hide. He was in for it now. It was a pretty safe bet that he'd be getting teased about this for days on end. His toughest fight all week was against a vicious, flea-ridden, straight from the pits of Hell, eviler than cafeteria dining, fluffy pet cat stuck up a tree. So embarrassing.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus. I've just had absolutely no impetus to write... until I got stuck in an all day conference at work. The fools, they let me bring my iPhone. Typed the whole thing on that. Mwah-ha-hah!


	54. Lucky Shot 23

Challenge topic #23: Lucky Shot  
Character(s): Danny Fenton  
Genre: General, Humor  
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

A/N: Mostly stream of consciousness. Forgive the author for any grammatical boo boos.

* * *

It shouldn't have happened.

As much as I hate math, I'm stuck here crunching numbers. So... Coordinates, distance, velocity, gravitational influences... Aww, screw it. Let's just do a web search and average out some expert guesses. Something this disastrous, pun intended, happens only once every 1000 centuries. So the chances of it happening in any given decade comes to one in ten thousand. That it was powerful enough to... Ugh... I still don't even want to think about it. Anyway wiping out life as I know it along with quite a bit of the neighborhood comes to... And carry the absurdity factor...

That it was composed of the solidified and condensed energies of that particular variety... hmm... capable of... I'm the expert so I can just pull a number out of the air and site myself. Ha, try to catch me out on that one... Say one in one-hundred million.

Okay, now I'm stuck. Dang it. Prof is going to regret making me show my work when reading through it drives him insane. Oh yes, he is.

So probability of A is 1 : 10,000 Bad enough.

The probability of B is 1 : 100,000,000. Never gonna happen, except it did.

I'm looking for the probability of A inclusive of probability B for the impossible odds of the thing that happened happening. Ouch, my brain is melting.

Sigh... No matter how hard I stare, the numbers won't crunch themselves. Don't they know who they're dealing with? Bigger sigh... They probably do and they're just being spiteful. Aww crap. I forgot to factor in the odds of the explosion occurring at just the right angle and with just enough force to send the thing hurtling towards us with a big ol' DOOM! written on it. Should I figure in the odds that I was in just the wrong place at just the wrong time to set it all in motion? No, no, no, it's too complicated already. Besides, I'm almost always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why add anything with good odds? Let's just call it A inclusive of B inclusive of C1 inclusive of C2 = lotsa math.

I need a sandwich. Or cold pizza, that works too. Okay so the above equation gives us...

2 HOURS LATER

Um. I think it's a one in two point seven billion chance, but who knows. Stupid. Okay, let's just call the whole thing a lucky shot. One Disasteroid, comprised of extremely harmful Ectoranium, sent hurtling straight for Earth thanks to a Fruit-loop's very unfortunately placed missed shot and the subsequent fuel tank explosion. Oh man, I better hope my English professor doesn't see that run-on sentence. You know what? I'm just gonna hold onto this, check the numbers a couple more times, and save it for extra credit later. For now I'll just calculate the odds of an average freshman getting hit by a bus any given weekday. Much simpler assignment to complete.

In the meantime, we'll completely disregard the extremely thin odds of me NOT ending up as some dissection subject in a secret lab somewhere, and the just as extremely thin odds of me getting almost universal public approval. Who'd have figured? We'll set aside the thankfully good odds of my parents' approval and assistance. We'll ignore the good fortune of both passing high school and getting accepted into a decent college.

All that taken into account (or left out), I still have to decide if that Lucky Shot with the Disasteroid was good luck or bad. After all, despite all of the great and wonderful things that have come out of it, I AM still stuck here in Intro to Statistics. Or maybe that's really a question for Philosophy class.

Screw it, I'm going to bed.


End file.
